


Under A Desert Sky

by Ymas



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Epic Friendship, Head Injury, M/M, Richard Hammond's Crash, Season/Series 16, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 03:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymas/pseuds/Ymas
Summary: They have been gravitating towards each other for years and if there ever was a time when they would find together, it would be this, now, here, under a vast sky and a display of stars that distils everything down to the most important things in life.Or: The one where things start out being perfect and then fall apart until a pebble resolves everything.Set during series 16, written for "The Grand CHMS 2002-2019 Celebration - Challenge".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What started this fic off was the following bit of conversation in the audiocommentary of the Middle East Special DVD between a producer and James May:  
> James: “My lucky pebble survived this whole journey."  
> Producer: “Oh? Where was it stored?"  
> James: “Most of the time in my pocket. Hammond gave it to me."
> 
>  
> 
> Please disregard the original timeline, I have no idea how long they take for filming what.  
> This story takes place sometime in spring 2011, roughly around when series 16 aired. 
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks go to my friend [delighted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted), who is my cheerleader and keeps an eye on my tenses. Although I don’t always listen to her, so all mistakes are clearly mine!  
> Also, delighted, you know this was your idea. So it's clearly for you. Thank you so much for everything.

Richard can't even say these are the moments he loves best on Top Gear.  
Because he loves it at least as much when they are hurtling down a runway in supercars or launch Reliant Robins into space or arrive at their destination on the other end of the country in a modified heap of junk.  
  
But this here, today, sitting, some of them lying, around a campfire, smoking a hubble pipe and talking nativity plays of all the impossible things, is right up there with the top experiences of his life.  
  
And of course James got roped into playing a shepherd as a kid because he had a bathrobe. And of course Jeremy would be the front end of a donkey and be annoyed by the fact that no one could see who exactly was doing such a properly good job of being an ass. And then it veers off into getting outright philosophical, but of course not without a lot of giggling and lighthearted teasing and it's really almost surreal.  
  
They have long finished filming and one by one the exhausted crew members excuse themselves and disappear into the huge Bedouin tent that serves as their common sleeping area, until only Jeremy, James and Richard are left.  
It's such a rare occasion on a shoot, the downtime and the peace and the companionship under the vast desert sky, and they are enjoying it far too much to even consider moving.  
  
That is, until James falls asleep at the edge of the dying fire and Jeremy decides he needs to exert at least some amount of professionalism and reluctantly instructs them to squeeze a couple of hours of sleep in.  
  
And it is testimony to the mellow mood of the night that Richard wakes James up gently.  
  
"Mmmmh", James mumbles, all soft and peaceful and really rather endearing. "'m not gonna sleep in the tent."  
  
"Well, you can't really stay here, mate, people are gonna fall over you on the way to the loo."  
  
James stumbles to his feet and yes, there was some local date schnapps involved, but neither of them is hammered.  
  
"I'll go..." he grabs the sleeping bag he'd been using as a pillow and vaguely points into the dunes, towards where several of the hardier crew have made camp under the stars.  
  
"Suit yourself, mate, but don't let the scorpions eat you, we still need you tomorrow", Richard says and follows Jeremy into the tent.  
  
They each grab the other's washbag from their predetermined sleeping spots and chase each other outside again like kindergarteners high on too much sugar. Richard grapples Jeremy for his hair gel and Jeremy wrestles Richard for his ridiculous anti-nicotine stain toothpaste and when they've finally burned enough giddy energy, they stand together in the dim light of a single lantern behind the makeshift port-a-loo-tent, brushing their teeth, laughing and spitting into the sand.  
And Richard looks up at Jeremy then, really takes a second and looks at him, at his profile starkly outlined in front of the lantern's dull, yellowish light, head thrown back, laughing with abandon before a background of the moon and the stars and the milky way, and he has a moment.  
A moment of absolute disconnect and wonder, a moment of ‘how the hell did I end up here, how on earth did I get so lucky, how, _why_ did this brilliant, annoying, marvellous bellend of a man choose _me_.  
And it almost gets soppy because Richard almost says something like that out loud, even opens his mouth to do so, but then, thankfully, years of conditioning kick in, and what he says instead is: “If you snore, I’ll smother you with your very own disaster of a headscarf, Clarkson, know that I will."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
For once, Jeremy doesn't snore.  
But pretty much everyone else does.  
And it's a stark contrast to the beautifully quiet atmosphere of before.  
  
Richard tosses and turns for the best part of ten minutes before he flops into the empty space where James should be.  
And that decides it.  
  
He shimmies out of his sleeping bag, rolls it up under his arm, grabs his pillow and torch and goes in search of James.  
  
The fire is down to a couple of glowing embers, but the moon and stars give light enough to just about see the outlines of tents, if not people. Richard switches on his torch nevertheless and picks his way through equipment, cars and shrubs towards the far end of the camp, where the sand is smoother and the stars even brighter.  
  
It's awfully chilly. And where is the logic in that, getting fried like a shrimp during the day and frozen into an ice lolly at night?  
  
Richard shivers and leaves the boundaries of the camp. He sweeps the beam of his torch back and forth between the sand under his feet and the dunes and shrubs left and right because, well, he wasn't quite kidding about the scorpions.  
  
"Sod off, you pillock, I can't see the stars."  
Richard grins. There he is.  
  
He takes a few steps in the direction of the voice, sweeping his torch around until he can make out the dark bundle that must be James.  
He has found himself kind of a hollow, nicely sheltered from wind and view by some shrubs and a dip in the landscape itself.  
It's a good spot, this.  
  
"Can I join you, mate?" Richard not-quite whispers.  
The sand looks soft even, in James' sleepy hollow. More Lawrence of Arabia than Tatooine, and Richard feels inevitably drawn to it.  
  
James is bundled up to the chin in his sleeping bag, just one arm out and thrown over his eyes to block the light from Richard’s torch and he looks extraordinarily cuddly and warm.  
  
"I swear, Hammond, if you don't switch off that light..."  
  
Richard hastily clicks the torch off. James and his hollow are plunged into darkness.  
  
"Thank you", James says dryly.  
  
"Can I join you? I'm cold", Richard deliberately makes his voice sound a little whiny. Not that James would fall for it. It has only ever worked on Andy, anyway. And rarely at that. If at all. But Richard isn't above trying.  
  
James' sigh is slightly overdramatic. "Suit yourself", he says, echoing Richard's own words from earlier back at him.  
  
"Hooray!" Richard mock-whispers, throws his sleeping bag into the dip and jumps after it, inaccurately judging distances from memory.  
  
"Bloody Norah, Richard", James protests, wriggling out of the way.  
  
Richard laughs out loud and makes a big affair of slipping into his sleeping bag in the dark while James grumbles and gripes.  
He loves this, the pretending to rile James up while James pretends to get riled up. They both love it. It's part of their routine, on screen and off, it's comforting and funny in equal measures.  
Jeremy plays the game, too, with either or both of them, which usually brings a thrilling kind of reckless unpredictability into it, taking it up a notch from comforting to challenging and from funny to hilarious.  
Contrary to Jeremy, though, Richard always knows when James has had enough and that's why, after a slightly sharper "Will you stay on your side, you pikey?" Richard settles down on his back, lying still and looking up at the frankly stunning display of stars overhead.  
His eyes slowly adjust and when he turns his head he can now just make out James doing the same, mere feet away.  
  
He keeps his mouth shut with minimal effort, just breathing the clean, crisp desert air and taking a moment to marvel at the fact that he is here, now, in this place, at this moment, with his best mates, and getting paid for it.  
  
Surprisingly, it's James who breaks the silence at last. "It's fucking stunning, this is", he breathes.  
  
"Yeah", Richard agrees. "Fucking freezing, too."  
  
He more hears than sees James turning his head to look at him. "We're in a desert, Hammond."  
  
"... kind of my point, May."  
  
There is a rustling sound when James turns around onto his side to face Richard.  
"The lack of plants makes for less humidity in the air, which in turn lets the heat evaporate faster and at night, when the sun goes down..."  
  
"James", Richard interjects gently when James draws breath.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Shut up and look at the stars."  
  
Richard is sure there is a flash of teeth in the dim moonlight before James sighs and turns onto his back again. "Yes, Hammo."  
  
That startles a chuckle out of Richard, because, well. Hammo. James is big on nicknames and while Jeremy has been Jezza off-screen for ages, instigated by James, mind, nothing really has presented itself for Richard. He doesn't like Rich very much, besides, that’s Porter, and Hamster is strictly reserved for teasing, so, yes.  
Hammo is a new one.  
  
They lie in companionable silence for a long time and Richard could almost fall asleep. If it weren't so damn freezing. He shivers.  
  
"Stop fidgeting" James says.  
  
"I'm not."  
  
More stargazing. More shivering.  
  
"You are. Stop it."  
  
"I'm not, seriously mate!" Someone shushes Richard from quite a way off. Yeah, sounds carry and that hasn't exactly been quiet.  
He tries to concentrate on breathing. First his own, then James'. Shivers again.  
  
"Richard..."  
  
"I'm not, James, I swear! I'm shivering, it's bloody cold!" he protests, half amused, half offended, but at least he manages to keep his voice low this time.  
  
"Are you being deliberately difficult, Hammond?"  
  
"No!" Richard squeaks, affronted. There's another shush from somewhere off in the other dunes. He drops volume down to a whisper. "I'm just really, really cold, mate."  
  
James sighs. "And the obvious solution for that was to leave the tent and sleep outside."  
  
Richard grins. "Well, it's much nicer here. Better company, too."  
  
James is silent for a minute.  
Then: "Well, scoot over here, then."  
There is some rustling and Richard can just make out James bringing an arm out of his sleeping bag and extending it.  
In clear invitation.  
  
Richard hesitates.  
They are not very tactile. Well, James is not very tactile, Jeremy is a whole different story. But James guards his personal space and Richard is not sure if it's a good idea to cross the line. Because he adores this man, he positively does, and he is not completely immune to intimate talking around campfires and romantic nights under stars.  
  
"Either stop with the shivering or else come over here, Hammond, I mean it", James says sternly and yeah, well, that's not really a choice now, is it. Richard hurries to comply.  
  
He shuffles over, pressing close into the warmth radiating from James, and how does he feel so warm in this cold night?  
He rests his head on James's shoulder and James promptly curls his arm around him and draws him in even closer.  
  
And that... yeah. That's unexpected.  
  
They lie in complete silence for a very long time. The sky is beautiful and vast like nothing Richard has ever seen before and he feels small and insignificant, nothing more than a dot, completely irrelevant to the bigger picture. He knows a night like this can do that to people, to him, he has experienced this before, on a camping trip to the Lake District, and it's kind of scary. He breathes through it, listening to James' heart beating a steady rhythm and wonders if he is similarly affected.  
  
"After I'd bollocksed it up with AutoCar", James finally murmurs, barely audible, "I thought I'd pretty much had it. Not enough talent to actually do something with music, not adaptable enough for any regular job. I thought that was it with my professional career and then for some reason... Jezza… just… somehow…"  
  
Richard could swear his voice breaks on the name and yes, it is all a bit overwhelming.  
  
"How did he find us, Richard? Why did he choose me?"  
  
Richard could make some joke about the prank at AutoCar actually being one of the deciding factors, and list a few other things that had greatly impressed Jeremy. Because he'd been there, been along for the election process, although back then he didn't have much say in it himself, yet. He had always rooted for James, though.  
  
But this is somehow not the time or the place. This is on a much greater scale than that.  
  
"We are incredibly lucky", he says instead. "Unspeakably lucky."  
  
"I never knew I wanted this", James whispers, and holy shit, he actually is teary. "But now that I know it, I would pay for it. I would give everything I own."  
  
Richard feels his own throat close up with a swirl of emotions and swallows hard against it.  
  
"It scares me, you know”, James goes on, oblivious. "Something this good can't last. And I couldn't bear to lose it. This. You. You two."  
  
"...Mate..." and gosh, Richard is all choked up himself. He turns on his side, slings an arm over James' chest and just hangs on for a while. James' skin is damp where Richard presses his face against his neck, but he doesn't say anything.  
There is nothing to say.  
He knows the feeling.  
  
They hold onto each other, in the freezing cold under the desert sky, and when James finally moves, it's only to nuzzle his face into Richard's hair. There might even have been a kiss in there somewhere. But he can't be sure and even if there wasn't, it's still the most intimate and loving gesture Richard has experienced in a very long time.  
  
Richard draws back slightly.  
"We belong together, James", he says with sincerity, "the three of us, it's destiny, we are meant to be."  
  
And James dips his head down without warning and kisses him.  
He misses slightly on the first try, and he has to adjust, and Richard is too stunned to do anything, so the second try is spot on and Richard opens up like yes, this was also meant to be.  
  
There is kissing then, tender and slow and sweet and Richard brings his hand up and wipes at the wetness on James' cheeks and James fists his hands into Richard's collar and holds on.  
  
And it's surprising, this, of course it is, but then again it totally isn't. They have been gravitating towards each other for years and if there ever was a time when they would find together, it would be this, now, here, under a vast sky and a display of stars that distils everything down to the most important things in life.  
  
"I don't know how I deserve this", James breathes between kisses. "Is this even real?"  
  
And Richard says "shhh" and "I'm here" and "we're here" and "definitely real", while working the zippers of their sleeping bags open, first his, then James', so he can get even closer, using James' bag to lie on and his own as a blanket and James lets himself be manhandled every which way, until Richard is satisfied, lying half on top of him for closest proximity and easiest access.  
  
Things do get a little bit more heated after that, but not by much. Because this is about intimacy and gentle touches and whispered assurances and lips against foreheads and fluttering kisses to eyelids and listening to heartbeats and soaking up warmth and of course hands go under shirts and roam over chests and Richard presses his face into James' neck when James reaches for his belt and then James whispers "look at me" and kisses his hair and it's ridiculous because it's dark and he can't see much more than outlines, but he complies anyway. And he can just make out the shape of James' face, the gleam of his eyes and he dips down again, catching James' lower lip between his teeth and tugging gently, before going in for another deep, heartfelt kiss.  
  
He groans and James fists a hand into his hair just so and he groans again until James pulls back, quietly laughing, running a thumb over Richard's lips and whispering "shhhhh" on nothing more than a breath.  
Richard shifts his hips a little, so they are more perfectly aligned, and this time it's James who almost chokes on a suppressed groan and Richard chuckles.  
He kisses the tip of James's nose and James catches him there, holding him still with a firm hand against the back of his neck, inches from his own face.  
"Is this a one-time thing, Hammo?" he whispers. "Because if it is, I need to know."  
  
And it's like a bucket of cold water down Richard's back, the need, the desperation, the doubt, the disbelief in James' words, evident even through the whisper.  
  
And yes, they have both been alone for a long time and it still has never occurred to Richard that he's been waiting for this, but he has never been so sure in his life that this is exactly what he'd been doing, waiting for this, and the realisation hits him out of nowhere with a two-pound-hammer, and he slumps down onto James again, hiding his face again, under his chin this time, feeling his heart beat furiously. And James' hand comes up into his hair, soothing, petting, and Richard senses the defeat rolling through James in waves, long before he opens his mouth and manages "It's ok, Richard" on the third try and Richard wants to tell him that it really _is_ ok, but for a few seconds he can only lie there and breathe, and process, while his whole world tilts on its axis and rearranges itself.  
  
He does eventually recover his equilibrium and he emerges from under James' chin, scooting up to press their foreheads together, framing James' face with both his hands.  
  
"How long have you known?" he asks, barely more than a breath.  
  
James shrugs. "Always", he says, and the acceptance, the sadness in his low voice makes Richard want to bundle him up and hold him close forever. "After the accident for sure."  
  
Richard nods against his forehead, caresses his cheek with a thumb.  
"Me?" he whispers, "for about five minutes. So cut me some slack, ok? It's a bit of a surprise."  
  
It takes a heartbeat or two for the words to register and Richard can pinpoint the exact moment their meaning sinks in, because James' breath catches in his throat and he goes very, very still. "Richard, don't..."  
  
"I'm not, I promise, I'm not", Richard assures him. "I might not have known until now, but, well, this is not new."  
  
James considers this for a minute.  
"Are we going to tell Jeremy in the morning?" he finally asks.  
  
And that... well, that's a bit sudden, but then again, they don't do secrets and well, yes, why not be upfront from the very beginning.  
  
"Sure", he says and his voice is very steady.  
  
James brings a hand up and runs it from Richard’s temple to his jaw in a slightly shaky caress. "You mean it", he says, full of wonder.  
  
"Yes. I do. I want this, I swear. I want it", Richard drops a quick kiss to James' forehead. "I want you." A deep breath. "In my life. And not only when we're filming."  
  
James flips them over in one fluid movement then, covering Richard's mouth with his palm just in time to muffle the startled yelp that turns into a gasp of pain when he lands on a sharp piece of rock which digs painfully into his shoulder blade, which is immediately forgotten when James grinds down on him and yes, the tender, languid mood is most definitely a thing of the past now.  
  
James is making quick work of opening the fastenings on both their trousers and brings them together and that is a practiced move, holy shit, that is, and then Richard can't help but be glad that at least one of them knows what he's doing.  
  
But Richard is giving as good as he gets, biting James' palm until it is finally replaced with James' mouth for more deep, wonderful, fervent kisses.  
  
And then it doesn't take much longer until he has to bring his own hand up and shove James’ face out of the way so he can bite down _hard_ on his crooked index finger as he comes.  
  
And James presses his own hand over Richard's mouth again, over Richard's own fingers, just for good measure probably, hides his face in Richard's neck and shudders through his own release.  
  
Richard holds him with his one free arm, strokes his back, up and down his spine, up and down and waits, waits until his breathing settles and he finally re-emerges, bracing himself on an elbow to take some of his weight off Richard. And oh, how Richard wishes he could properly see his face now.  
Well, next time.  
  
"Ouch", he says instead, muffled through two sets of fingers and James, looking appropriately sheepish, quickly pulls his hand away.  
  
"Sorry", he murmurs, taking Richard's hand in his own and rubbing over the bite marks on his index finger.  
  
"No, it's not..." Richard turns their hands around so he can kiss James' palm, then lets go and shifts until he can reach behind his back and grab the damn rock that is now almost embedded in his shoulder.  
  
Upon closer inspection it's more a pebble than a rock. It has a funny form, though, kind of an oval with two rather sharp bulges and no wonder it has hurt so much.  
  
James takes it from his hand and examines it with his fingers. "That’s gonna bruise, I s'ppose", he says lazily. Completely unbothered, the arse.  
  
Not that Richard is, not really, but a bit of sympathy would have been nice. Ah, well, it's not like they are suddenly going to change their well-established routines with each other.  
  
"Well", Richard drawls. "How's that for a keepsake?"  
  
James laughs, low and warm and guttural, happy and relaxed in a way Richard has never heard before. And it goes right to his gut, spreading warmth and happiness through him in frankly inappropriate measures.  
  
James tries to hand the pebble back but Richard averts the motion, instead closing James' fingers around it. "You keep it", he says, "for luck."  
And James does.  
  
  


* * *

 

  
They lie close together for a bit longer, maybe cuddling but Richard doesn't want to go there, until he feels like he might drop off at any second. And no, it won't do for any of the others to find them like this in the morning, not yet.  
  
So they reluctantly separate, zip their sleeping bags back up and slip into a separate one each, and yes, that's going to be a not at all pleasant mess to wake up to in the morning, especially as they won't have any access to a shower for several days yet.  
Yikes.  
  
And it's gotten even colder, if that's at all possible, but Richard feels so snug and warm from deep inside that he hardly feels the outside temperature.  
  
They keep a respectable distance apart, on their backs so they can still look at the stars, and after a couple of minutes, Richard sneaks a hand over until it nudges James' and James folds his own tightly around it without hesitation.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Richard feels like he can't have been out for more than ten minutes when, much as he might try, he can’t ignore the sounds of the awakening camp any longer.  
  
He reluctantly blinks his eyes open and is greeted by the sight of James lying on his side, watching him. Intently.  
  
There is not even a second of disorientation.  
  
Richard is immediately aware of the situation and the fact that James is waiting, waiting for the freak-out. Or the denial.  
The awkwardness at the very least. It's all right there, in the set of his jaw. His weary eyes. And the lines of worry around them.  
  
Richard hitches himself up on one elbow, makes sure there is no one in the immediate vicinity, and darts forward for a good morning-kiss.  
  
He is rewarded with a smile spreading over James' face, happier and more radiant than any he has ever seen on him. It lights him up from the inside, stripping years off him and god, he is _gorgeous_.  
  
Richard kisses him again, just for good measure.  
  
And then, just to make a point, and because he knows a challenge when he encounters one, he reinforces: "So, are we gonna tell Jeremy today, then?"  
And it really, honestly, wouldn't freak him out the least bit.  
  
James looks at him, slightly frowning, searching, before his expression transforms into something bordering on complete and utter wonder.  
It's equal parts beautiful and heartbreaking to see.  
  
He reaches over and tucks a strand of Richard's too long hair behind his ear.  
"Let's wait until we're home, ok? That'll be soon enough."  
  
And Richard knows that is the sensible thing to do. Because these are extraordinary circumstances and even though he knows now that this thing has been festering inside him for months, maybe longer, waiting to break through the surface and out into the open, it is the sensible thing to look at it in the grey reality of a London fog and see if it still looks the same.  
Not that Richard has any doubt that it will.  
  
"Your call", Richard assures him, a split second before Jeremy hollers their names and reality has them back.  
  
They wriggle out of their sleeping bags and eeeew, yes, it's even more unpleasant than Richard had imagined. Thank god he still has a couple of changes of underwear in his bag in the tent and they have a washtent with a water tank in the camp.  
If the crew, or rather Jeremy, hasn't emptied that out yet, that is.  
  
He drapes the sleeping bag over his shoulder in a way that strategically covers his crotch and sticks his tongue out at James, who is obviously enjoying the view, smirking.  
  
Straightening up he puffs his chest out in a way that is meant to signify 'nothing to see here' as well as 'don't talk to me' and marches back towards camp, making a beeline for the washtent.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The only explanation is how tired they all are, but especially James and Richard, who haven't slept for more than two or three hours that night.  
  
It really is the only explanation for why James would still stand there, just there, holding onto the towrope, while at the same time instructing Richard to "gogogo".  
  
Because they have done this hundreds of times and they are good at it and they know what looks dangerous but isn't and what doesn't but is. It's their damn job.  
And it's James who has shouted at Richard and Jeremy many times when they went for the second option because it seemed like the quick fix.  
And now it's James who is still standing there, even when he says "gogogo".  
  
And then it's "stopstopstop" and "emergencyemergency" and "are you alright, James" and "how do you feel, James" and "do you want to sit up, James", and when James looks at him blankly and asks "do I know you?", Richard's whole world tilts on its axis again before it shatters into a million pieces and it's only Jeremy's hand, firm on Richard's knee, that keeps him from shattering right along with it.  
  
They power on, of course, Richard and Jeremy. Because the show must go on.  
And so does James, after far too little rest, sporting a massive headache and a comedic bandage. Not that Richard finds it very comedic in any way.  
And not that it is, not entirely, because there are several fresh stitches in the back of James' head and they have witnessed first-hand how much it hurts if he catches them on the headrest.  
  
Richard tries to make things as easy for him as possible and even Jeremy is much too gentle with him by his standards.  
Editing this into something resembling their usual banter and leaving-each-other-to-their-own-devices rules is going to be a bitch and Richard does not envy Andy in the least.  
Other than that, though, they are back on track.  
More or less.  
  
But something has changed.  
Or rather, something hasn't changed that should have changed.  
Richard looks into James' eyes, searching for a glimpse of acknowledgment, waits for a conspiratory smile, a wink, anything at all, but nothing ever comes.  
A touch to James' elbow at dinner one night in Jordan gets as casually shrugged off as it always has been.  
  
James treats him like he always has and Richard, after a couple of carefully probing questions, has no choice but to admit to himself that James probably doesn't remember anything.  
  
Well, he seems to remember all the smoking and talking by the fire just fine. Even remembers the night in his sleepy hollow under the stars. But there is no sign whatsoever that he remembers spending it with Richard.  
And Richard is a coward. But whatever is he supposed to say? 'Hey James, you don't remember it, but we fucked under the stars and I practically confessed my undying love to you?'  
  
Besides, the more he thinks about it, the more surreal everything seems and the less sure he is that he got all the implications right. Maybe he misinterpreted? It was dark, it was emotional, James clearly wasn't his usual composed self. Maybe things weren’t as significant as Richard thought. Surely James would remember, if they were, wouldn't he?  
And maybe James had just gotten carried away by the strange atmosphere and the unfamiliar emotions and regrets it, and this is a convenient way to get out of the situation.  
Richard doesn't think he believes that. Doesn't want to believe it. But, well. It's a possibility.  
  
He knows his own feelings are real, though.  
And isn't that ironic.  
Story of his fucking life.  
  
But they are still filming and it is a Special and a lot is riding on it, they have a new Stig to introduce after all and they are still in mildly hostile territory, so Richard pulls himself together and tries to concentrate.  
There will be time enough for all the rest when they are back home.  
  
And if he lies on his back when he's alone at night and puts some extra pressure on the bruise, and if that brings tears to his eyes and not from pain, that's neither here nor there and absolutely no one's business but his own.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The bruise has faded to almost nothing by the time they reach the Sea of Galilee and if Jeremy had known about it, he would have surely included it in his little joke.  
  
They watch the sunset and stay in a basic little hotel by the shore and Andy gives them the next morning off because everyone is at the end of their rope and this is a beautiful place to re-fuel.  
  
Even though no one has gotten much sleep on the road, everyone gets up extra early to watch the sunrise and make the most of the break. Some go for a swim or a jog, the frisbee makes a re-appearance and soon the shore area around their hotel feels much like a holiday camp, with people laughing and shouting and playing or just lounging in a chair with tea and an action figure Jesus, like James, for example.  
  
Jeremy is happy-giddy in that way that always lifts the general mood like nothing else can and he is fooling around in the water for Richard and James, playing around and falling in and inventing swimming and canoeing and generally being sillier than a man of his age and responsibilities has any business being.  
  
James and Richard sit on the shore and laugh their heads off and of course Iain has the camera out, even in flip-flops and swim shorts, because that's just what they do, and when Jeremy is playing it up for _them_ instead of for the cameras it always makes for the best telly.  
Although this time Richard doesn't think any of it will be of much use to Andy in the long run, it's just too silly and random without the context of mood or knowing Jeremy like they do.  
For who he is and not who he pretends to be.  
  
He enjoys it all the more for it and especially because James is next to him, laughing right with him, loose and happy and apparently relatively headache-free for the first time in a week.  
And it's enough.  
  
Much too soon Andy, and he at least has the grace to look apologetic, urges them to pack up and move on.  
  
They set off and for the first hour or so, both Richard and James help Jeremy trying to come up with reasons for why they need to come back here after the official filming is done. Over the radios. Which pisses off Russell, their soundman, a bit, and then Andy puts an end to it, because “you _are_ aware that some poor sod in the office will actually have to transcribe all that shit and then I'm the one who'll have to read through it, right?”.  
Which is probably for the best, because there is no way they will be able to make it work anyway.  
  
The filming of the rather hastily put together segment of finding the reborn Stig is fun, especially because the two Chris’s, Hale and Dunford, look ridiculous playing shepherds in their dressing gowns and yes, of course, that idea had been born of James' story that night by the fire.  
And the thought of it twists a vice around Richard's heart, but he is immediately distracted by the mouse? Or is it a hamster? By the rodent in the cage on the sideboard.  
And their crew is just genius, coming up with these ideas on the go and making them happen to boot, in a foreign country and on very little time.  
  
He reacts spontaneously and appropriately, and James swallows a laugh and then Jeremy half manages to keep a straight face through his solemn speech and Richard thinks that maybe it was all a dream anyway and that he doesn't even need anything else to be happy.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
That feeling turns around sharply that very night when, in the boozy mood of wrap up dinner, everyone goes on about how much they are looking forward to seeing partners and family after almost a month on the road, and James casually mentions how happy he is to be single.  
  
Jeremy, family man that he is, jumps straight on the topic with disbelief and Richard has to listen to James confirm repeatedly that yes, he really isn't looking and yes, he hasn't been laid in ages and no, he doesn't really miss it and some people value their freedom and prefer being alone, and would you please respect that, Jeremy.  
  
Richard stumbles to his feet, grabs the packet of cigarettes off the table and flees outside.  
Of course it's a feeble excuse, because they are sitting in the smoking area, but there's none better at hand.  
  
He hastily inhales the first cigarette, then takes his time with the second.  
He's halfway through it when he hears Jeremy's heavy steps on the gravel and oh, joy. It's the last thing he needs right now, talking to the blundering idiot.  
  
"What's up, Hammond?" Jeremy asks, leaning against the banister next to Richard.  
  
"Sod off, Clarkson", Richard replies on a deep inhale of smoke.  
  
"Can't", Jeremy says. "You nicked my fags and I want one."  
  
Richard takes the cigarette out of his mouth and looks at it and then at the brand on the packet in his hand and oh, yes. True, that. He hadn't even noticed.  
  
He shakes another one for himself out of the packet before he hands it back, then offers Jeremy a light as some kind of apology.  
  
They smoke in companionable silence for a bit.  
  
"You haven't answered, you know", Jeremy says at last.  
  
"Huh?" Richard stalls.  
  
"I may be a bit of an idiot, but I'm not blind, Hammond. Something's up. You've been strange since the accident."  
  
And for fuck's sake. Richard had thought he'd hidden it well. But if even Jeremy noticed, it must be goddamn obvious.  
  
"Deal with your own shit, Clarkson, and leave me alone", he snaps, much harsher than is called for but he feels cornered and that is never a good thing with him.  
Still, he doesn't walk away and that should probably tell him something.  
  
It obviously tells Jeremy something, because he also doesn't walk away.  
He is silent for a long time and Richard can practically hear him going through variations of questions in his head, discarding them one by one, and that happens seldom enough with Jeremy that he can honour the effort by staying and listening to what will eventually come out of it. Like a civilised person.  
Or at least that is what Richard tells himself is the reason for why he stays.  
  
At long last Jeremy pushes off the banister, coming to stand in front of Richard and waits until Richard not only looks up, but properly meets his eyes.  
  
"Richard... has James' accident stirred up shit... you know, from your own? Is there something we should deal with? Do we have a problem?”  
  
The question hits Richard fully in the gut and almost brings him to his knees.  
It's one part the relief about the fact that Jeremy doesn't know, because he is far from ready to talk about it.  
And about 763 parts the genuine concern in Jeremy's eyes, the way he said 'we' instead of 'you'.  
The way he is waiting for the answer, biting his lip, holding his breath, very clearly _scared_.  
  
"No. Jez. God no." He sways forward without conscious thought, resting his forehead against Jeremy's shoulder. Jeremy's arms come up to loosely circle his back.  
  
"Sure?" he asks. Tentative. Hopeful.  
  
"Yes", Richard nods against him. "I have some stuff to work through, but it's not about that. It's not that. I haven’t even thought about that. I'm alright, I promise."  
  
"Good", Jeremy says.  
And, after a beat: "It did for me, you know. A little bit."  
  
And that, fuck. Richard is such a shitty friend, being so preoccupied with feeling sorry for himself that he didn't even notice.  
  
He winds his own arms around Jeremy's waist, squeezing tight.  
"I'm so sorry", he says. "I should have checked in with you."  
  
"That's ok", Jeremy murmurs, sounding slightly embarrassed. "As long as you're both alright, that's ok."  
  
Richard pulls back so he can look him in the eye. "We are, Jeremy. I am. I really, really am."  
  
Because compared to the other thing, compared to what could have been, he really, really is.  
  
And so is James.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
On the flight back home, Jeremy always sits with Andy, already negotiating which bits from the previous weeks he wants in the show and which bits he wants to go.  
  
Richard and James usually try to sit in the vicinity, hearing-distance at the very least, simply because it's the most amusing way to recap their journey.  
And a little bit because they still hold onto this illusion that they have any say in it themselves, that if they interject early on, they may be able to keep their own most embarrassing scenes off the screen.  
Which never works, of course, because Jeremy doesn’t cut himself any slack, but neither does he do so for his colleagues.  
  
Today, though, Richard walks right past them and sits down next to Iain on the lame pretence that they need to discuss logistics for the filming of his 911 Turbo vs VW Beetle segment, which comes up next.  
And the thought that he will barely have time to do laundry before shipping out again to South Africa is, at that very moment, not as enticing as it usually is. These three weeks in the Middle East and all the personal revelations and subsequent drama have clearly taken its toll.  
  
Iain, on the other hand, is utterly thrilled by the prospect of filming a Beetle being thrown off a helicopter and would have been more than happy with going directly from Israel to South Africa.  
  
And Richard knows he will be excited, too, as soon as he's had some sleep and his mother's cottage pie. So he leans back and lets Iain’s enthusiastic rambling about camera lenses and angles wash over him. Jay jumps in from the row in front and Russell from one row back and very soon they are off talking technology among themselves and there are very few replies expected from Richard whatsoever.  
  
The flight attendant announces boarding completed and the plane begins to taxi.  
Richard starts when suddenly James appears out of nowhere and plonks down in the seat on his other side, right over the aisle.  
He cranes his neck and yes, there is space in the front of the plane where Andy and Jeremy are and why is James coming to the back when he usually always, always sits in the front?  
  
James looks over at him, says "wake me up when there's wine, but only if it's any good", closes his eyes and promptly goes to sleep.  
  
Richard watches him covertly while Iain, Russell and Jay talk themselves out, noting the dark bags under his eyes, the lines of exhaustion not smoothing out even in sleep, and he's just glad that James' next feature, the Ariel Atom, won't take him abroad.  
  
Maybe, hopefully he'll finally get some rest, sleep that concussion off the rest of the way.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Back at Heathrow, Jeremy is almost barrelled over by little Katya while Francie is smiling and waiting her turn in the background. Richard's best friend Mindy waves his Porsche’s keys at him from across the arrivals hall before carefully picking her way through and around the hubbub of producers and crew greeting friends and family.  
  
James stays just long enough to receive and return a hug from Katya and a kiss on the cheek from Francie, then waves goodbye to all of them and pushes his cart out towards the cab stands.  
  
Richard releases his own armful of mini-Clarkson hurricane, setting Katya back on her feet safely before turning around to look after James.  
He almost calls him back, but he wouldn't know what to say.  
He can't even offer him a lift, they don't go in the same direction.  
  
Mindy has finally made it to his side and follows his gaze, hand on his shoulder, right where the bruise used to be.  
  
"He still has no one, then", she sighs.  
  
Richard shakes his head. "I don't think he wants anyone."  
And if it sounds as bitter out loud as it does in his head, well, he hopes she will chalk it down to exhaustion.  
  
Because no one is to know that someone could have been him. Should have been him.  
 _Would_ have been him.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Mindy changes cars at Richard's and leaves in her own.  
And he loves her so much because she could have just picked him up in her old Fiesta, but no, she took his beloved baby to greet him instead.  
  
He shovels down a bowl of cereal, takes one of the longest hot showers of his entire life, falls into bed and sleeps for the rest of the day and all through the night.  
  
On Saturday he visits his parents and eats three helpings of his mother's cottage pie. He is unspeakably glad to be rid of his plain rice diet.  
British food and Porsches, best things in the world.  
  
On Sunday he does his laundry so he can repack his bag, then sits down at the kitchen table and pours over the pre-written script for the second part of his Beetle vs. 911 segment, gently tweaking it here and there.  
  
They filmed the first part just before leaving for their Middle East trip and in the meantime the witches and wizards at the office have not only shipped cars and equipment down to South Africa, they have also finished the raw edit for the first part.  
Richard watches it eight times in a row, making sure he catches the mood just right, and adjusts his script some more.  
  
In the evening Jeremy calls, like he always does when one of them has a solo-shoot on location coming up. He has seen the raw edit, too, and they bounce last minute ideas off each other for quite a while.  
It's funny and familiar, doesn't feel like working in the least, and it adds just the perfect final touches to the script.  
  
Richard re-arranges his notes, makes the couple of final changes, and then does his best to wear a hole into the carpet in his living room before he decides that he can't possibly board that plane tomorrow without having spoken to James again.  
  
And, well, maybe it wasn't one of his brightest ideas, because that particular phone call turns out to be more than just a little awkward.  
James seems happy enough to talk to him but also rather puzzled as to why. Richard stutters his way through "how's your head?" and "have you seen a doctor?" and "have fun with the Atom, then, mate!" before saying his goodbyes and falling backwards onto his bed, fully clothed and on the covers, and when the cab collects him for the airport at 3am, he hasn’t slept at all.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Filming in South Africa goes very well and Richard lets himself be swept away by Iain's overwhelming enthusiasm. The man is positively bouncy despite the half-ton of camera equipment on his shoulder. It's a good segment, this one, and it's fun, and they even manage to see an elephant and a couple of giraffes, and Richard gets back to England on Wednesday in a really good mood.  
  
Thursday morning, Richard arrives at the office early to the news that James did the Atom segment on Monday, then came briefly in for work on Tuesday morning but looked so terrible that he'd been sent right back home by Jeremy and Andy.  
  
And Richard had so been looking forward to seeing him.  
Bloody Norah.  
  
He sits at his desk, the one distinctly lacking James opposite, trying to concentrate on his script for Friday's Lambo review and failing spectacularly.  
  
Before he can think too much about it he whips out his mobile and texts: ‘ _I'm back. Do you need anything?’_  
  
Concentrating works a little better after that.  
  
It takes over two hours for his phone to ding and announce a text from James.  
Richard smiles, picturing him all warm and dishevelled, just having woken up.  
  
 _‘Welcome back to the City of Gloom’,_ the text reads, _‘but why would I need anything from you and what?’_  
  
'Because you're obviously miserable and all alone and you have no one to take care of you and I would be really good at it and when was the last time you actually _let_ someone take care of you', is what he doesn't text.  
But he's a little bit surprised that he's not the least bit surprised by the fact that he _wants_ to be the one to do that.  
  
 _‘Company?’_ is what he _does_ text.  
  
It takes a while for an answer to come through and Richard doesn't know if it's hesitation or just Captain Slow being, well, slow.  
 _‘I'm not very good company atm. Still completely knackered and in a rather rotten mood.’_  
  
Richard groans and buries his face in his hands because yes, that is exactly why, you numpty.  
  
"Uh, you alright, Hammond?" it's Porter, standing next to Richard’s desk with an armful of notepads, documents and a laptop, and looking rather concerned.  
  
"Yeah, alright, Rich", Richard sighs.

Porter nods, but it seems rather unconvinced. "Meeting", he says and indicates the closed door behind which Jeremy and Andy disappeared an hour ago already.  
  
Ah, yes. Production meeting. Richard is so not in the mood.  
  
Luckily, neither are Andy or Jeremy.  
Andy informs them that James had his stitches removed Monday afternoon and the doctor had been slightly concerned about the lack of rest he'd gotten after the accident.  
Health and Safety, who'd also finally been officially informed, had been fairly concerned.  
And the way James had looked on Tuesday, when he'd ambled into the office, like death warmed over, had had Andy _very_ concerned.  
  
So he won't be in at least until Monday, maybe longer. And could they please take over for him, because they are on a very tight schedule.  
  
Porter volunteers to write the script for Tuesday’s snowbine harvester intro for him and do some in-depth research about the Rolls he will drive in Albania.  
Jeremy has already started on James' voice-overs for the Middle East Special along with his own. Not that James is going to use them word for word, but it will give him something to start with, which should speed him up.  
Richard checks his schedule and confirms that yes, he can do two car reviews tomorrow, one right after the other, and even though his own is mostly written, could they please hurry up if he's expected to come up with a whole new one about a car he knows nothing about in an afternoon in which he's also supposed to write a couple of snowplough lines and maybe start on voice-overs?  
And yes, he's in an awfully crabby mood, because hearing that James is worse than before he left is not what he'd expected.  
Besides, he's missing him so much.  
It's been almost a week.  
  
Porter, good man that he is, offers to write the snowbine harvester intro for Richard and Jeremy, too, and then there is some brainstorming after that, but it's half-hearted at best and Andy soon lets them go, reminding them that they don't have much time to put everything together so they better be at their best tomorrow morning.  
  
Richard quickly finishes his own review on the Lamborghini Aventador, then jots a couple of notes down for voice-overs on both the South Africa as well as the Middle East films while they are still fresh in his mind.  
Lunch is a sandwich at the desk while he starts reading up on the Aston Virage, trying and utterly failing to come up with something witty to say about it.  
  
Richard knows he looks desperate, his hair standing on end from raking his hands through it and yes, putting product in isn't always the best idea, especially when he’s overdue a haircut, no need to point it out, he's noticed.  
  
Jeremy shoots him funny looks from across the room for hours before he finally cracks and rolls his chair over to help. Richard feels like an amateur. He hasn't seriously needed Jeremy's help other than for bouncing off ideas in years, and it makes him feel stupid and inadequate and makes everything even more difficult than it already is.  
  
Why can't he think about anything but James anymore? Why does simply knowing he feels a bit poorly, or even just not being able to see him, put him into such a state? It's not like all that much has changed, is it? It was just one night and now they are back to normal.  
  
It's only that somehow nothing feels even remotely normal anymore.  
  
"That should hold", Jeremy says at last. "We'll look over it again tomorrow when you're at the track. I'll call you. But it's good. Now go home and sleep that jetlag off."  
  
And Richard feels like shit for taking the easy way out.  
For saying "thank you" and "that would be best" and "see you tomorrow". Because he has added more than an hour to Jeremy's own workload and Richard knows Jeremy won't be home tonight in time to say goodnight to the kids and he is partly responsible for that and not even for a particularly good reason.  
Not for any reason at all, good or bad, actually.  
  
But he can't see what else he could do, he is certainly not writing any more jokes tonight, writing as a whole somehow is completely broken and he is not in a mood or position where he could help Jeremy with anything of his own right now.  
He vows to make it up to him later one way or another, packs up, and heads out.  
  
He pulls his mobile out on the stairs and he knows he is mother-henning, and it's one of the things that drives Mindy absolutely bonkers, but he can't help it.  
 _"Are you eating, at least?"_ he texts.  
  
The text to speech device in his car informs him, halfway home, that James is _"Out of toast, but can't be arsed to go to the shops. But I have biscuits. So yes, Hammond, I'm eating. Not that it's any of your business."_  
Richard swerves so abruptly into the exit lane, he almost clips the tail end of a Nissan Qashqai.  
  
Because fuck this. If he goes home now, he won't be able to settle down anyway.  
  
He stops by a Tesco and stocks up on bread, beans, bacon and eggs and all possible trimmings for sandwiches and soup.  
He's good with soup. It's his go-to for whenever Mindy and her girls are sick.  
  
On the way to the counter he adds a toothbrush, just in case.  
  
Half an hour later, he's at James' door.  
He does have a key somewhere but he's loaded down with bags, so he doesn't even try to find it, leaning on the doorbell with his elbow instead.  
  
For a long time, nothing happens.  
Richard is just about to set down the bags and search for the key after all, when the door finally opens.  
James peeks through the gap and he looks terrible.  
Unshaven, rumpled, dishevelled, not very clean and dog-tired.  
  
Richard wants to wrap him up and hold him close and never let him go.  
"Woah, mate, don't you sleep?" he blurts instead.  
  
"...What are you doing here, Hammond?"  
  
And if Richard hadn't been staring at him the way he was, he would have missed the flash of disbelief, followed by relief and some amount of joy washing over James' face just before he catches himself, schools his expression into an irritated frown and gruffly asks the obvious question.  
  
Not that Richard knows what to make of it, but it's a start. At least he is not completely unwelcome. Goals.  
"I come bearing food and presents", he announces, brandishing the Tesco bags.  
  
"I'm fine, Hammond."  
  
"No, you're not. Now stop being an arse and let me in."  
  
James looks at him, just looks at him for far too long before he turns around and goes back inside. But he leaves the door open.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
By the time Richard has deposited his bags in the kitchen, James is stretched out on the lumpy sofa, eyes closed, ignoring him. From the clutter strewn all around him Richard reckons that is how he has spent the most part of these past several days.  
  
"Do you sleep down here?" Richard asks.  
  
"Hammond." Exasperated. "What's the bloody matter with you? Thanks for the shopping, now go home."  
  
Richard bites his lip.  
This is... whenever he's sick, Mindy comes round. Or his mother. Makes sure he eats, sleeps. Pampers him a bit.  
James looks like he doesn't even know that's a thing. Looks like he's been camped out here for days, living on Ginger Ale and dry toast.  
  
"I'll make tea, you stay there", he decides, and James cracks one eye open, incredulous.  
  
He knows how James likes his tea best and it's bloody complicated to make, with loose leaves and everything.  
But he knows how to make it.  
And it gives him some time to put the groceries away and, more importantly, pull himself together. He still doesn't quite know where he's going with this but he sure as hell won't leave until James is at least halfway back to looking like a human being.  
  
James sits up when he takes the tray in, grabbing for one of the mugs like a man dying of thirst. He takes a sip, closing his eyes in pure bliss.  
  
"Know that I love you, Hammo", he groans.  
Richard almost drops his own mug.  
  
When he looks back up from rescuing it, balancing it against his knee, he catches James staring at him, a peculiar expression on his face.  
  
Richard stares back for a heartbeat or so, then bends down to rearrange the milk jug. "Yeah, hold that thought, mate", he murmurs.  
  
James doesn't give any indication that he has heard and Richard straightens up again, plastering a cheerful smile across his face. "So, how's the head?"  
  
James hesitates. "Worse", he admits.  
  
"The Atom didn't help", Richard states.  
  
"The Atom didn't help at all", James confirms.  
  
And yes, driving a roofless race car on a healing concussion definitely isn't the best idea.  
  
"Sick?" Richard asks.  
  
James shrugs. "Queasy."  
  
Richard nods. "When was the last time you ate?"  
  
"Other than toast and biscuits?" James specifies but doesn't answer.  
  
Richard shoves the tray with the remaining tea closer to him. "Here, drink. Lay down. I'll make some soup." He gets up and moves towards the kitchen.  
  
"Richard." It's quiet, tentative almost, and Richard stops without turning around. "Why are you here?"  
  
And he thinks maybe he should just tell him, maybe he should just ask him, if he really can't remember, if there's a chance they could try anyway, start over, but he's so scared of the answer and as long as he doesn't ask, as long as the answer isn't put out there, out in the open, there is at least still a theoretical chance. And he's not ready to give that chance up.  
  
He shakes his head and walks on.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Richard uses stock and adds fresh ingredients of the likes James would usually scold at, but if he really has lived on dry toast and biscuits for days, Richard won't budge about the extra vitamins.  
  
When he returns, James is again sprawled full length on the sofa with his eyes closed.  
"How did you manage to film that Atom, mate?" Richard asks, putting the tray down with a deliberate clatter to announce his presence. "No, scratch that: how did you manage to finish the Special?"  
  
James runs a weary hand through his hair. "It wasn't that bad before. And TopGear always comes first."  
  
"Uh-huh." Richard hands over a bowl and a spoon. "You've been around Clarkson too much. He's rubbing off on you."  
  
"Eeew, don't say things like that, Hammond", James complains, but it's half-hearted at best.  
  
"What does the doctor say?"  
  
"Effects of too much adrenaline and too little rest catching up on me. Nothing to do but sleep it off. Only problem is that I somehow can’t sleep." He brings the bowl up to his nose and inhales deeply before dipping the spoon in. "Seriously, Hammond, I'm alright. I manage just fine on my own."  
  
Richard catches his eye before the spoon has made it all the way to his mouth.  
"I know, mate. But you don't have to."  
  
James stills mid-motion, staring at him.  
  
Richard stares right back.  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Richard stays the night. Of course he does.  
As if it ever had been a question.

Turns out there are reasons why James slept on the sofa ever since they came home on Friday, and Richard gets them out of him one by one.

At first he couldn't be bothered to make the bed he'd stripped pre-trip.  
Later, after the Atom, he was simply incapable of doing it.  
In his weird, ancient house in central London, the bathroom is downstairs, so it saved him a couple of trips up and down.  
And since his sleep rhythm is completely off anyway, if he can't sleep, then down here there are at least some magazines and remote controls in reach.  
Also, he's ok, thank you, Hammond.

Richard sighs and goes to make the bed.  
He airs the room and tidies up a bit of the pre-trip clutter and after-trip dust.  
What James really needs is a cleaning lady and Richard resolves to start nagging him about it as soon as he feels better. Because this isn't how James should live and while Richard would gladly take up various roles in James' life, being the housewife isn't one of them.

He makes sure James has eaten almost a full bowl of soup, gets him to drink more tea and then, when he is clearly failing, makes him go to bed. Properly.

"I could just stay here, I won't sleep anyway, my head is killing me", James complains and Richard rolls his eyes and tells him to try anyway because he knows a thing or two from practically co-parenting Mindy's daughters back when they'd shared a flat.

He clears the remains of dinner away and after James has shuffled up the stairs, still grumbling, Richard waits exactly four minutes before grabbing Jeremy's newish book (oh so aptly titled "For Crying Out Loud") off the bookcase and follows him upstairs.

The door to James' room is closed, of course, but Richard is long past caring. He raps his knuckles against the wood twice, softly, and opens it without waiting for an invitation.

Visible in the half-light spilling in from the corridor, James is curled up in bed, head cradled in both hands.

Richard stops in the doorway.  
"You gonna take that company now?"

James turns onto his back, forearm over his eyes. Hesitates. "I'm not a child, Richard."

Richard leans his head against the door jamb.  
"Be one”, he says. "You deserve it. You've had a horrible two weeks."

"I'm alright. You can go home now."

Richard bites his lip, debating whether to bring it up or not.  
Because they have a pact. They don't talk about it.  
But the image is there, on the forefront of his mind. He can't remember it himself, but Jeremy took a picture which Richard keeps in an envelope, hidden in the bottom of his socks drawer, and only takes out to look at when he needs a reminder that he has friends who will always be there and won't ever give up on him.  
He has to blink rapidly a few times at the mere thought.

"Remember when you played Lego with me?" he asks, and it comes out quietly, but his voice is steady.

James inhales sharply. "This is nowhere near as bad..."

"No. Stop", Richard interrupts, wiping a hand over his eyes and running it through his hair.  
"It's not. Thank god it's not. But it's still bad. It's more than bad enough. So... let me help?"

James turns on his side again, facing the wall. His sigh is a little overdramatic.  
"Suit yourself", he says.  
And Richard is transported right back to that night under a desert sky and it's a stab straight into his heart.  
He does not let on.

He makes sure James has a glass of water and some aspirin on the bedside table, pulls the door shut so that only a thin sliver of light shines through the gap from the corridor.  
He switches the little reading lamp on and adjusts it so it won't bother James, then slides down to the floor next to the bed, back against the wall.

"I'll stay here for a bit and see who the big knob has managed to offend in his newest instalment. If you need anything, tell me." James turns back over on his other side, now facing Richard.  
"Need, or want", Richard clarifies after a second, because James is a nit-pick like that.

James only looks at him and Richard nods on his behalf and turns to the newest collection of Jeremy's columns.

It doesn't take long and he is deeply immersed, skipping from one to the other, back and forth, chuckling at Jeremy's pointed wit, at references only they would understand, and reading passages out to James in a low voice.  
James has closed his eyes and has his forearm draped over them, clearly in pain, but he doesn't object.

Richard hopes that it helps.

And he knows that it helps when James finally, finally falls asleep.

He stays where he is, doing what he's doing for a while longer, just because, and only gets up when his leg starts to fall asleep and he needs a pee.

He hovers over the lightly snoring James for a long minute before he gives in to the overwhelming urge to touch, and runs a hand over his hair.  
And then it's fuck it all to hell and back and he just gives up on any pretence whatsoever and follows that caress up with a kiss to the soft hair just above James' temple.

And then he tears himself away, with a monumental effort he tears himself away, switches off the light and leaves the room before he gives in and crawls into bed with James.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't sleep very well which is partly owed to James' really rather old and lumpy sofa, and partly to jetlag, but at least it means he is up well before he needs to leave for Dunsfold, and well before James is.

He sets the table and puts the kettle on and as soon as he hears James moving about upstairs, he starts scrambling some eggs and pops bread in the toaster.

James appears in the doorway, looking sleepy and completely stunned.

"Morning", Richard greets him cheerfully. "Feeling better?"

James nods.

"Go take a shower, then. This should be done in ten minutes or so."

James looks from Richard to the table, to the tea and back to Richard.

"Go on", Richard makes a shooing motion with his left hand, measuring tea leaves with his right. "Unlike some of us, I don't have all a day. I have cars to race."

James opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, closes it again and shuffles off to the bathroom.

He reappears, finally smelling fresh and clean and looking a lot better than the night before.  
And Richard is inordinately proud of his timing because he can turn around and hand over a mug of just poured, perfectly brewed tea the moment James walks through the door.

James accepts it, still with that same bewildered expression.

He draws breath but Richard stops him with a raised index finger.  
"If you ask me one more time why I'm here, I swear in a minute your head is going to hurt so much more than it does right now."

James deflates.

Richard redirects his warning finger to a chair. "Sit."  
James does. Cradles his tea.

"I didn't think bacon would be a good idea, but do you think you can stomach some eggs?"

James stares at him. Then, very deliberately, takes a sip of his tea.  
An expression of complete and utter wonder flickers over his face. He looks at it and takes another sip. And yes, only James would notice the difference, but it was a sure bet that he would.

"I found your stash of the good leaves. And I had time." Richard says it nonchalantly, but internally his heart is dancing a highland fling. "Now. Eggs?"

James stares some more.  
Richard shrugs and shovels some on a plate, puts it in front of James.

James still stares, but at the plate this time.  
And yes, Richard might have added some veggies and fresh herbs and that might have been a bit overkill, but he just can't help himself for so many reasons.  
He feels the blush rising in his cheeks. James looks up at him again and yeah, that doesn't make it better.

"Richard…" he sounds more than a little lost.

"Just… shut up and eat, mate, ok?"

"…Ok."

Richard resists the urge to ruffle his hair or butter him some toast, just takes a slice for himself and nudges the plate suggestively in James’ direction.

They eat in silence while Richard scrolls through the e-mails on his phone. There is one from Jeremy who, of course, went through Richard's testing segments again last night and came up with a couple more ideas. The man is a miracle.

James clears his plate with small, methodical bites, all the while watching Richard from behind his hair. It's a little unnerving and Richard is almost glad when he's finished and can get up to clear his plate away. He looks at his watch, decides he has another couple of minutes and re-fills both their mugs.

"I'll take a shower and borrow one of your shirts", he says, leaning against the counter.

James' eyebrow shoots up.

"Of my choice!" Richard hurries to clarify. "And then I need get to Dunsfold. You make sure you get some more rest. There's leftover soup in the fridge, and all the fixes for sandwiches. You need anything else, do you think?"

James carefully shakes his head. "It's more than I need", mumbles in an awed tone and it's the first full sentence out of his mouth this morning.

"Good", Richard says. "If you change your mind, just text me and I'll swing by again tonight."

He grabs the half-full mug and takes the stairs two at a time, heading for James' bedroom and wardrobe.  
He knows exactly what he's looking for. There is this long-sleeved black t-shirt with the stripy decoration down shoulders and arms. They all three bought one of those as a souvenir at the BritCar endurance race. As it is about the only black clothing item James owns, he finds it surprisingly easily.

"Do you think I can borrow a pair of pants, too, mate?" he calls, already opening a drawer. He turns around and comes nose to nose with James, who's standing right behind him and flinches only slightly at the volume.

"Are you going through my underwear, Hammond?" And he doesn't seem put off or perturbed in any way, just utterly, utterly bewildered.

Richard turns bright red for the second time this morning. "Uhm…"

"It's alright, just go ahead."  
James follows him out and downstairs again.  
"Do you know what date my test for the Virage has been pushed to? I still need to write something for it."

"Nope, you don’t", Richard says. "I'm doing it this afternoon after the Lambo."  
He opens the door to the bathroom, turns around.  
"No working today, May. Seriously. Relax. We've got you covered."

"I'm better."

"Than yesterday. Yes. Fantastic." He sighs. "James. Stop worrying. Rest. It's alright. We’re a team, the three of us. Even Porter pitches in. We've got your back. I promise.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jeremy's sixth sense is spot on as usual.  
Richard has no sooner turned onto the A3 that he calls him on his hands-free and they go through the two segments again.  
  
Richard's own is no problem at all, he's had the necessary facts mostly memorised since the time of writing already, the scripted metaphors come natural and the rest is improvisation.  
  
The Aston Virage is much more difficult. Especially as Jeremy has written most of it and Richard himself hadn't been able to focus on much of anything, least of all on memorising facts or making sure the idioms really suit him.  
Jeremy talks him through it twice before he declares that he is fairly confident Richard won't completely piss off the crew.  
Richard groans and says "You cock", but he couldn't be more grateful for the help.  
  
He's had this vague notion that he would change into some of the spare clothes he keeps in his locker in the portacabin, but as soon as he arrives, he's swept away by the hustle and bustle of filming preparations.  
The time in between make-up and test shots and discussions he uses for going through the scripts again.  
Remembering dates and numbers has always been a bit tricky for him and it didn't get better after the accident.  
  
It's rather chilly and he keeps his jacket on, even for filming.  
  
The Lambo segment goes very well, as expected.  
And when he, alone in the portacabin with a sandwich and the Aston script, finally takes off his jacket, he is at first genuinely a little puzzled by his too long shirt-sleeves.  
Luckily no one sees either the blush or the smile spreading over his face, nor the way he runs his hand over the fabric before he pulls the collar up to his nose and inhales the smell of James.  
Be it detergent, wardrobe freshener, the house, whatever. The shirt smells like James and it’s wonderful.  
  
When he emerges for the filming of the Aston segment, he is still wearing it.  
Emily Shapland, their production manager, squints at him sceptically. "Are you kidding me? That old thing? Is that really necessary?"  
Richard grins and blows her a kiss in passing.  
  
The Aston segment is alright. He needs more than his customary amount of re-takes but he doesn't botch it up too badly and they manage to finish relatively early.  
  
A ‘ _How did it go?’_ waits for him on his mobile when he gets back to the bag he left in the portacabin.  
  
 _'Alright'_ , he texts back. _'Are you resting?'_  
  
 _'Sod off.'_  
  
Richard rolls his eyes and packs up his stuff. And then, a couple of minutes later: _'Thank you.'_  
  
 _'No prob mate. Any better?'_  
  
 _'Still knackered. Head still trying to explode. Soup was good, though.'_  
  
Richard smiles, just a little bit proud of himself. _'Good. Need anything?'_  
  
A pause.  
  
' _No_.'  
  
Another eye roll on Richard's part.  
  
 _'OK. Want anything?'_  
  
A slightly longer pause.  
  
 _'I'm good.'_ Followed shortly thereafter by _'Seriously, though, thanks.'_  
  
Richard shakes his head. _'Seriously though, no prob. Sleep. But let me know if there is anything.'_  
  
He waits for a bit, but no other messages come through.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Leaving now will bring him into London at the worst of rush hour and it would probably be smarter to stay in Dunsfold and try to get some work done from here and then head directly home.  
But he knows, from previous experience, that left to his own devices Jeremy will forget all about time until it's too late to drive home to Chipping Norton. That he will then end up staying in his London flat instead and will miss about a quarter of the precious weekend he could indeed spend with his family.  
It has happened many times before, and while Francie is extraordinarily accepting and understanding, the kids would be horribly disappointed.  
  
So Richard sets his main goal for today on getting Jeremy home in time to at least say goodnight to the kids.  
He owes him, after all.  
  
The drive is excruciatingly tedious and takes over two hours, but he eventually arrives at the office. It’s shortly after six.  
He doesn't get to do more than wave at Jeremy, who's on the phone across the room, before Andy sticks his head around the corner and calls him over to his own desk.  
  
They talk about today's filming, and schedules, and the finishing touches to the Beetle vs. 911 segment which should happen on Monday, and about the Middle East voice-overs which also need to start next week because they are almost due to leave for Norway, and the Albania road trip soon after that, and has he finally decided on which car he wants to drive in Albania, because they need to come up with a bit of a script. The usual ‘... whatever’ will only get them so far if they can't even research the cars they're supposed to be mocking ahead of time.  
  
Richard nods and wants to ask after James but doesn't.  
"Can I help you with anything, Andy?" he asks instead, looking at the stacks of paper on his desk. "I'm done for today, I'm really only just here to see that Clarkson gets home sometime tonight and thought maybe I could speed that 'sometime' up a bit, but... you kinda look like you need it more."  
  
Andy stops reorganizing his notes and looks at him with a curious expression.  
"Decide on that car, Hammond. And look after Jeremy. That's... yeah, that's all the help I need. I'm about to head out anyway, my eldest has a recital today."  
  
And with a bit of a start Richard realises that Andy would have stayed.  
For Jeremy's sake, Andy would have stayed.  
It gives him all kinds of warm fuzzies, the way they look out for each other, can depend on each other.  
How none of them is ever truly without at least one other person looking out for them.  
  
He nods and goes back to the corner of the office where Jeremy is still on the phone, or maybe again, standing up now and arguing about something or other with someone or other.  
And in terrible French at that, Richard realises with no small amount of amusement.  
Richard points towards the coffee corner and Jeremy gives him a thumbs-up.  
  
So he makes coffee for two, puts one mug in front of Jeremy and grabs a bunch of unopened mail off his desk.  
There isn't much he can do to really help Jeremy, but sorting through his insane amount of post is a start.  
  
Jeremy hangs up, muttering about imbeciles and sticks shoved up arses and Richard gives him a moment or two to calm down before he says: "Just so you know, I'm only here to make sure you don't forget to go home tonight. But if there's anything you want me to do or have a look at, throw it at me."  
  
Jeremy grunts.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Who died and made you our babysitter?" Jeremy repeats.  
  
And while it's clearly in jest, it does throw Richard a little, making him wonder where exactly that had come from.  
But he lets it go. The goal is to get Jeremy home, not delay him even more.  
"Eight, Clarkson", he says instead. "At the very latest."  
  
Andy stops by on his way out, winking at Richard and exchanging a few whispered words with Jeremy, and then they are alone and work in silence for about an hour.  
  
Richard is sorting the mail into neat little piles of 'can be done by crew', 'can be done by me', 'is rubbish', 'needs Jeremy's attention'.  
When he's done, he takes Jeremy's now considerably smaller stack of mail over to plonk it on his desk, collects both their mugs and goes for a refill of coffee.  
  
Jeremy leans back in his chair when Richard is done and grabs for his mug with both hands. Richard hands it over, then hitches himself up to sit on the edge of the desk, dangling his feet.  
Jeremy watches him over the rim of his mug, considering.  
Richard ignores it, reading notes on the Albania Road Trip upside down.  
“How much longer, do you think?" he asks when his mug is close to empty.  
  
Jeremy's gaze sweeps over his cluttered desk. He shrugs.  
"I can be done", he says. "I still need to sort a couple of things out for Albania, but I can do that from home. Francie would probably appreciate it if I were around early tomorrow. Finlo has a footie thingy." He pulls out his mobile, checks his texts with a soft smile. "Yes, she actually would."  
  
"Well, let's make your woman happy, then", Richard says, hopping off Jeremy's desk.  
  
He's in the coffee corner, washing his mug, when Jeremy passes him on the way to the fridge to forage for some provisions for his journey.  
  
"Why are you wearing my shirt, by the way, Hammond?" he asks mildly, half vanished inside the refrigerator.  
  
"It's James', mate”, Richard replies without thinking.  
  
Replays the question in his head.  
Replays the answer in his head.  
Stops dead.  
  
Jeremy emerges from the fridge, eyes twinkling.  
And the floor, traitorous bitch that it is, completely fails to comply and swallow Richard up.  
  
"I..." For once in his life, Richard is at a complete loss for words.  
  
Standing there, frozen to the spot, the scalding hot water running over his hands, mug trembling in his fingers and a thousand questions tumbling through his mind at once. And ‘What will Jezza say. Oh god. Whatever will Jezza say.’ Again and again and again.  
  
Now that it’s real, now that the time has come, now that he is facing this, Jeremy, alone, so not how it was supposed to be, so not what the plan was, all his bravado, the certainty, is gone. Gone.  
  
Jeremy turns the faucet off, takes the mug out of Richard's hand and replaces it with a towel.  
  
"I know", he says gently.  
  
"Know what?" Richard forces through the panic lodged in his throat.  
  
"That it's James' shirt."  
  
"I..."  
  
"Richard." Jeremy turns him around by the shoulders so they are facing each other. Leaves his hands there. "How long has this been going on for?"  
  
"Nothing is going on", Richard says weakly. And it sounds like a lie but of course it's the sad fucking truth. And yes, the irony isn't lost on him.  
  
"Richard." Jeremy is talking to him like he would to a child.  
"I called him today to ask if he needed anything and he just about bit my head off." He snorts. "Told me one mother hen among his co-presenters was already more than he could handle and to sod off, if I please. And you've been off since the accident."  
  
Richard opens his mouth but Jeremy talks over him. "You haven't asked after him once. And I know you haven't asked Andy, he told me. Which clearly indicates that you know more than we do."  
He runs a hand down Richard's arm, tugging at the too-long sleeve of the shirt Richard had completely forgotten he was wearing until Jeremy had pointed it out.  
"And then you turn up in one of your favourite shirts, only suddenly it's several sizes too big. Which do you think I am, Hammond, blind or stupid?"  
  
"Both, I hoped", Richard mumbles. And then: "Neither, Jezza."  
  
"Kind of you", Jeremy says, steering him over to the table and sitting him down in a chair. He pulls one out for himself and sits down opposite, their knees touching. "Spill."  
  
And Richard does.  
There may be some moisture involved at one point and at around the same point, Jeremy's hand moves to Richard's knee.  
And stays there.  
  
But he tells the whole story while Jeremy sits in silence, watching him and chewing on his bottom lip.  
  
"So… what do you say to it?" Richard whispers, when finally there is no more to tell.  
  
"Best nothing, I think", Jeremy says.  
  
"...Ok. Fuck. It is a problem, then."  
  
"What?" Jeremy ducks so he can see Richard's face and looks at him sharply. "No! Not in the way you think, at least."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Jeremy sighs. "I am _so_ not good at this", he says and yes. No.  
He is selling himself short. Has been, for ages. Richard sees it. Sees it so clearly.  
  
Jeremy rakes a hand through his hair.  
"We need to work this out, obviously." And there it is again, the 'we'. "We're leaving for Norway in less than a week. Albania after that. You can't, not like this."  
  
"I'll make sure it won't affect filming, Jeremy, you can trust me on that."  
  
"I know", Jeremy says. "I know that, and I do."  
He squeezes Richard's knee with the hand Richard had completely forgotten is there.  
"But it's literally going to kill you. And we can't have that."  
  
He braces himself on Richard's knee and pushes up to stand. "We still need you.”  
“For our gender ratio. Obviously." He adds, and winks.  
  
And the sight is so strangely surreal it makes Richard bark out a laugh, which in turn makes Jeremy smile.  
  
"Oh bollocks, whatever am I going to do?" Richard moans, burying his face in his hands.  
  
"I wouldn't have the slightest idea", Jeremy says. "But I, for one, am going home now. And so are you. Or to James', whatever. And if it hasn't worked itself out by Monday, we'll have to come up with something. But we're good at that. The coming up with something-malarkey. I mean, how hard can it be?"  
  
And Richard laughs again, following Jeremy out.  
How hard can it be, indeed.  
Gosh, he feels so much better.  
  
And then they stand in the parking lot, between their two cars and yes, it's a little awkward.  
  
"Promise me you won't worry about me all weekend", Richard says and bugger it all, when did he turn so sappy? But he can see it now, that Jeremy would. Will.  
"We'll be away again soon and, well...enjoy the fam, okay? Promise?"  
  
And it's just about as sappy when Jeremy pulls him into a quick, one-armed hug and all he says is:  
"I promise I'll try."


	6. Chapter 6

In the end, Richard goes home.  
He does debate taking the turn off to Hammersmith, but at this point he kind of can't justify turning up at James' without invitation again, it would most probably lead to questions and awkward explanations he isn't quite ready for.  
  
He _does_ send another text, though, that he can't keep himself from doing, even if it’s just a quick _'Alright, mate?’._  
There is no answer.  
Richard desperately hopes that means James is asleep.  
  
He takes a shower after getting home, but pulls James' shirt right back on afterwards, unwashed and smelling of a mixture of his own sweat and James' soap. Mixes himself a gin and tonic, settles on the sofa and pops in a DVD with TopGear Specials.  
  
He sips his drink, watching himself interact with James on the screen and asks himself if it will be possible to go back to this, this easy friendship, or if he has the balls to confront James about it all, to make it more complicated but maybe even better than what he sees on that screen.  
Or maybe worse.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When he wakes up surprisingly late on Saturday morning, awkwardly curled up on the sofa, with a crick in his neck and _Jessica_ playing an endless loop in the background, he is no closer to a solution.  
  
But at least there is a text waiting for him.  
  
 _'Much improved'_ , it reads. _'And before you ask: yes slept, yes ate, and feeling vaguely human again._ '  
  
Richard blinks back the tears that spring to his eyes for no reason whatsoever.  
  
' _Good_ ', he texts. _'Have everything you need? Food?_ '  
  
‘ _Yes, mom’_ , is the answer and Richard sighs. This doesn’t seem to be going anywhere good.  
  
His phone buzzes again and he only now sees that he has missed several texts from Jeremy, too.  
  
 _'Footie for 13-year-olds? Bloody Boring!'_ the first one reads.  
Then: _'Everybody else is shouting. Am I supposed to shout? I can do shouting!'_  
Then: _'This is serious fun!’  
_ And, the last one: ' _Not sure if the boychild is ever going to speak to me again..._ '  
  
And Richard appreciates it, really, really appreciates it, because now he's laughing.  
 _'Try not to offend anyone too important and please don't make headlines_ ’, he texts, knowing it's futile, before he gets up to stretch the kinks out of his spine and take a leak.  
  
He makes himself some toast, does some chores around the house, then resolves to let James decide.  
  
He sits down with a mug of tea and takes the plunge.  
 _'Company?'_ he asks, in an echo of Thursday morning.  
  
It takes less time than drinking half a mug of tea for the phone to buzz.  
 _'No, you twat. Stop being annoying.'  
_  
And wow, yeah. That pretty much settles things before they’ve even started.  
  
He grabs his wallet and the keys to his 911 and goes to take Mindy's girls to an animal park in mid-Wales.  
  
Comfort Driving.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
James texts _'that was out of line, sorry'_ sometime during the day.  
Richard replies with _'alright, mate, don't worry'_ and that's the last of it.

 

* * *

  
  
  
All of Sunday Richard uses to tilt his world yet again, to consciously re-set his mind back to friendship setting.  
  
He's had enough, frankly.  
And really, it _is_ enough.  
 _Has to be_ enough.  
Had _always_ been enough, after all.  
 _Will_ be enough.  
  
He switches on Dave TV, watching TopGear on endless re-runs, listening to himself bantering with his good mate James.  
Tinkers with a bike engine on the kitchen table, imagines doing it with his good mate James, like he has done countless times before.  
  
It is enough, it will be enough, and it is infinitely better than setting himself up for certain heartbreak.  
  
It takes him a long time to fall asleep that night. But he makes very sure that come Monday morning, he will be ready to face the world, face TopGear again.  
And his good mate, James May.  
  


 

 

* * *

  
  
  
Of course he oversleeps.  
Of course he oversleeps when he desperately wanted to be in the office before James, which usually isn't even that difficult, even though James lives closest. He wanted to put James in the position of having to react to seeing Richard again. Damn.  
  
Instead he is woken by the insistent bleeping of his phone and, as soon as he is aware enough to accept the call, by Andy shouting at him to get his arse into the edit suite.  
  
So much for a good start into the week.  
  
The good thing about it is, it doesn't leave much time or space for awkwardness or conversation.  
  
"Sorry, chaps, overslept!" he calls to the room at large, frantically searching for the stacks of paper he needs for the meeting with Andy.  
He does take the time to give James a thorough if surreptitious once-over from behind the cover of his own desk, screen and hair, though.   
  
James still looks slightly off, a bit scruffy, tired mostly, but so much better than the last time Richard saw him.  
And he can't even begin to comprehend how good it is to have James sitting at the desk opposite his again.  
  
"Slow down, mate, you're giving me a whole new kind of headache", James grumbles. "Andy already is livid, a few more minutes won't make a difference."  
  
And yes, he's probably got a point. Richard slows down enough to make sure he does actually gather the right documents and that they don't end up all crumpled.  
  
Jeremy appears at his elbow, setting a paper cup of coffee down in front of him.  
"Alright?" he asks, brushing his shoulder against Richard's.  
Richard nods, feeling the heat rise on his cheeks.  
  
James has noticed, is looking at them oddly. Of course he has. Jeremy does not usually make coffee for anyone, not even for himself.  
  
"Good", Jeremy says in a voice only _he_ considers low. "Had me worried there for a bit."  
He returns to his own desk and Richard does his best to ignore James' questioning gaze.  
  
And he does get lucky, this time. Before he can think of anything to say to distract him, before James can open his mouth to form a question, Andy hollers for Richard from down the corridor.  
  
Richard shrugs an apologetic shoulder at James, gathers up his papers and coffee and gets his arse into the lion's den.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When Andy lets him out, closer to dinner than lunchtime, his Beetle vs. 911 segment is done, both his Lambo and Aston segments are almost done, he has a script for the Norway intro in his hands, courtesy of Porter, has chosen a car for Albania and James is gone.  
  
"Health & Safety has him on part-time and he's required to see the doctor again before he comes back for real", Jeremy says gruffly, before Richard can even ask. "He’s very much not happy about it and he somehow thinks it's all my fault."  
  
Richard puts his papers down and searches for his mug to go for tea.  
"Well, is it?" he asks, after he has located it under an Iraqi flag. And whatever is that thing doing on his desk?  
  
Jeremy shrugs, not looking up. "Maybe."  
  
Richard grins. Briefly clasps Jeremy’s shoulder in a show of support and agreement on the way past.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They cock around a bit with their modified combine harvester on Tuesday morning. James seems mostly alright and very much up to it, luckily.  
  
They don’t have much to do anyway. It’s just a couple of scenes with a loose script Porter has written for them as an introduction for Norway, where a second, truly modified, harvester is waiting for them.  
And James is the one who gets to drive it, which puts him into an unusually bouncy mood, much to the delight of both Richard and Jeremy.  
  
On Wednesday, James has his last doctor's appointment and gets the all clear just in time to leave for Norway on Thursday morning.  
  
Richard knows that Andy and Jeremy had both been working on a back-up plan, that they would have been able to film with just the two of them. No one had mentioned it out loud, though, and Richard had been more than happy to ignore even the possibility of it happening.  
It would have been bloody hard to act it up sufficiently for the cameras if they’d have had to leave James behind. It's never quite the same if it's not all three of them, and under the current circumstances it would have been plain depressing.  
  
James and Richard have ended up alone together a couple of times these past few days, usually during sneaky, in James' case highly discouraged, fag breaks when Jeremy was otherwise occupied.  
  
There had been some awkwardness and James had looked at Richard oddly more than once, and Richard repeatedly expected him to say something, but he never did.  
  
The most awkward moment had come when Richard had given back the freshly laundered shirt. Keeping the undies, because well, that would have simply been too embarrassing, especially in an office setting.  
But that moment, too, had passed with not much more than a long, contemplating look on James' part and a mumbled "Thanks, mate", on Richard's.  
  
Other than that, Richard is proud to note that he has quite easily slipped back into his usual behaviour towards James. The all-matey behaviour. He is rather certain that no one has noticed anything amiss, least of all James, who has a bit of a reputation for social cues and innuendo flying over his head.  
  
Unfortunately that ‘no one’ does not include Jeremy, of course.  
  
"Richard, you can't do that", Jeremy says, catching him up at the foot of the stairs and ushering him into a quiet corner of the car park on Wednesday evening when Richard is trying to leave without too much fuss.  
  
"I can and I will, Jez”, Richard states firmly. "We're starting over."  
"Richard..."  
"Jeremy."  
Jeremy looks at him, still holding onto his elbow.  
  
Richard sighs. "As far as he's concerned, Jez, it never happened. So I put us on even ground, it never happened for me, either. We'll just start over, see what happens."  
  
Jeremy shakes his head. "I don't know shit about these things, Richard, but I'm sure Francie would tell you it doesn't work this way."  
  
"Leave it, Jezza. I mean it."  
  
Jeremy’s fingers tighten almost painfully on his elbow and Richard thinks he’s in for a proper Clarkson rant, but then Jeremy sighs and releases him and Richard nods once, sharply, before he turns away and walks to his car.  
  
When he pulls out of the car park, Jeremy is still standing in the same spot, looking, for all that it is Jeremy Clarkson, rather forlorn.  
At least he has lit himself a fag so Richard can pretend that this is the reason why he's still standing there and the forlorn-bit is just his over-active imagination playing up.  
Yes. That must be it.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They meet at the airport at a frankly ungodly hour.  
  
Jeremy is clearly trying for normalcy, suggesting the airport game to wake them up. James slightly reluctantly agrees and Richard throws himself into it with all that he has. He knows he is taking it completely over the top, but he can't seem to stop himself, bouncing from shop to shop, trying to find the most ridiculous item for under 20£.  
  
They board the plane with Jeremy sporting a glittering pink feather boa courtesy of Richard, who expressly targeted Jeremy today, and a rather endearing bobble cap that James bought him as part of the game because of the cute bobbles and the fitting Norwegian flag, but which Jeremy took an instant liking to.  
  
It's never easy to say what might happen with Jeremy in the airport game. Sometimes they buy him what they think of as the most embarrassing piece of clothing and he proudly wears it to the pub the next day.  
Sometimes he completely flips his shit over something apparently mundane.  
Even after almost ten years it's a total mystery to them and they alternate between tame and over the top, always hoping to hit jackpot by sheer accident.  
  
Richard comes close today with the lavish feather boa, which is why he's declared winner by the jury of James and various crewmembers, and which is why Jeremy walks down the aisle now in full view of fan and foe, adorned in glittery-pink awfulness but with his head held high and a determined smile plastered on his face  
  
It makes James snigger and bump shoulders with Richard and Richard counts his win double.  
  
They sit with Andy on the plane, discussing the script which, in pure TopGear fashion, has the events of the challenges laid out in detail but doesn't contain much in regard to text for the three presenters.  
They can't ever be bothered to stick to their lines anyway, so everyone had long ago given up on trying to make them say what they are supposed to say.  
  
It's one of the reasons why they can film so much in such a short time, that they never need to learn masses of text by heart for the challenges.  
It’s also why they keep getting in hot water with the BBC brass and much of the media.  
But it also usually turns out to be much funnier like this, so it’s a good solution for everyone. Mostly.  
  
Jeremy gets the redundant flame thrower he'd so begged for, Richard will have to do some manual labour and James will be the designated driver.  
  
It looks like this is going to be a lot of fun.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They are picked up from the airport and shuttled directly to a frozen lake near Beitostølen, where shenanigans immediately begin.  
  
Richard stands on the deck with Jeremy while James is in the cab trying to drive in a straight line, and Richard can't help but be a little bit glad that they are split up this way.   
It's so much easier to keep the difficult stuff all out of his mind if he doesn't have to look at James all the time, but can shout at him via radio instead.  
  
And of course the ice is supposed to hold but then of course it doesn't and Iain and Jay are running towards them, no matter the heavy camera equipment they are carrying, and that is _never ever_ a good sign and Richard almost shouts at Jeremy how, why, HOW can they have put James in danger yet _again_.  
  
They abandon snowbine, or rather ship, what with it starting to sink.   
But then their local expert checks the ice and deems it'll hold, so they get on again and James gently, or as gently as is possible with a 13 ton vehicle, rocks the harvester out while Richard makes a quip about him and Jeremy being a lot safer on the top than James is in the cab and it's one of the hardest lines he's ever made himself say in his career.  
  
Jeremy starts diving head-first into snow-drifts after that, and gets to use his flame thrower and they break windows and set fire to a skier and soon Richard is swept away by the hilarity of it all. Scripted or not, these things are always fun.  
  
Even James seems to enjoy himself a lot and by the time he, voice quivering with barely contained laughter, demands clear instructions instead of hysterical shouting, Richard realises that yes, they have gotten quite carried away, and yes, things are how they used to be and as such they are, quite simply, brilliant.  
  
They tumble into their hotel that evening, frozen, starved and laughing.  
Happy.  
  
Jeremy keeps his new favourite bobble hat on even during dinner and James and Richard gang up on him and tease him mercilessly which he good-naturedly endures, witty come-backs and everything.  
  
All is well with the world.

 

* * *

  
  
  
They are off to a very early start again the next morning.  
  
Richard hits the snooze button twice and then he doesn't even have time to take care of his hair.  
  
He looks in the mirror, running a hand through it, already mentally surrendering himself to the inevitable piss-taking.  
It doesn't matter, really, as except for the breakfast/newspaper scene, he will be wearing a hat all day anyway.  
But the other two will have a field day.  
And he wouldn't have it any other way.  
  
He grins, winks at his reflection in the mirror and bounds down the stairs to the breakfast room, ready for another fun day of playing in the snow with heavy equipment and his best mates.  
  
His mates. Who are already sitting at the table.  
  
Richard stops short in his tracks when he sees James.  
Who is wearing his shirt.  
Richard's shirt.  
James’ shirt.  
 _Their_ shirt.  
  
Jeremy looks up and catches Richard’s eyes over James' shoulder.  
Doesn't look away until Richard is able to breathe again.  
  
He approaches, slowly, unsure of what is displayed on his face, but before James even notices him, Jeremy has set off, going on about today's shoot and the set-up for the breakfast scene, and snow, and ice, and flame throwers.  
Richard stands there, a little dumbly, and then someone shoves a mug of coffee into his hands and that jolts him out of it enough to make him remember that he should probably eat something and doesn't have much time to do so.  
  
He eats like he's in a trance, hyper aware of James' presence, and even more so of the black shirt which must still smell like Richard's laundry detergent.  
It's impossible, but Richard thinks he can smell it right now, over the couple of feet that separate them, and it fills his lungs and chokes him and in the end he eats some yogurt and some cereal and downs a lot of coffee and leaves the toast on his plate.  
  
James reaches over and steals a piece, then wanders off to start on finding the layers of clothing they need to be wearing today.  
  
Richard breathes easier, but only slightly so, because now he's facing Jeremy.  
Or rather, Jeremy is facing him. Richard is doing his best to ignore him.  
Which is completely done with when Jeremy's hand sneaks under the table and squeezes Richard's knee.  
  
"Is he playing with me?!?" Richard blurts, looking up.  
Much too loudly, judging from Jeremy's quick glance around the room.  
But no one seems to be paying them any attention.  
  
"Richard..." Jeremy sounds completely lost.  
  
"No, seriously, mate, does he think it's funny? Fucking with me?" Richard asks heatedly. "Do you think he thinks it's funny?"  
  
"I...no. No, I... No." And Jeremy Clarkson being at a loss for words is what brings Richard back down to earth immediately. Makes him realise what a position he's putting his friend into.  
  
"Sorry", he apologizes meekly, staring into his coffee. "This is not... it doesn't have anything to do with you."  
  
"Oh, but it has _everything_ to do with me", Jeremy says mildly, squeezing Richard's knee once more before taking his hand away. “Please don’t forget that. Don’t forget about me.”  
  
Richard swallows hard, can only nod. The silence stretches between them.  
"We start filming in twenty minutes", Richard grinds out at last. "I'll be alright by then."  
He looks up, meets Jeremy's eyes square on. "I promise you."  
  
Jeremy nods, too. His gaze shifts, settling on a point behind Richard and Richard knows James is there, somewhere in the background. Doesn't turn around.  
  
"Don't break us, Richard", Jeremy whispers, blinks a couple of times, then looks back at Richard, straight into his eyes. "I don't mean the show, mate. Just. Please. Ok? Try not to break us."  
  
Then he's gone, shouting something loudly in James' direction, and Richard drops his face into his hands and tries very hard not to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

Getting into the mood for filming that day is an enormous struggle.  
  
Richard pulls himself together, gets through the breakfast scene and onto the harvester, does his best to find his flow and knows he's a shadow of what he could be. And while he is confident in his abilities to fake it for the cameras, he still feels horrible for letting Jeremy down.  
He knows that his reactions and his banter are off, a fact which must make it so much more difficult for Jeremy to play off him.  
  
But then Jeremy starts jumping into the snow again, diving head-first into every available drift, and while it was moderately amusing yesterday, it gets funnier and funnier with every time he does it and by the time he knocks his head on a particularly hard-packed area, Richard is in complete stitches.  
  
He is no fool, he knows exactly what Jeremy is doing, that he is doing it mainly for Richard's sake, but it works, and it will make for good telly and Richard gladly takes it.  
  
James, having a marvellous time with himself and his eighties mix tape in the cab, is blessedly oblivious to it all.  
  
When they skid off the road and get stuck yet again, when even Jeremy has to resort to manual labour and is far past any additional mood-lifting pranks, Richard is long back in the groove.  
  
They finish the challenge, unexpectedly successful for once, and that calls for a bit of a celebration.  
  
They don't even take the time to shower. They hit the bar straight away with all the crew in tow and Jeremy buys the bar’s whole stash of rosé in one go, even though everyone protests his choice loudly, and Richard adds gin and tonic water and woah, alcohol costs a bloody fortune in this country!  
James makes the barman raid the store rooms and find every single packet of crisps in the house and very soon they have the whole bar area to themselves.  
  
It's loud, it's raucous, it's soggy, it's fun.  
  
Right up to the point where it isn't.  
  
Richard is more than a little bit buzzed and he doesn’t quite catch the moment when most of the crew go to bed. But by the time the piano music starts up, no more than a handful of people are left in the bar.  
  
It doesn't even really register with Richard at first, it's just a background noise, the melancholy tune blending in nicely with the scene and the alcohol-induced humming in his ears.  
It's only when Jeremy breathes "May" and goes very still next to him that he turns around and looks. And looks.  
And looks.  
  
James.  
Sitting at the piano.  
In the black shirt with the stripy shoulders.  
Fingers dancing over the keys.  
Lost to the world.  
  
A hush descends over the room, disbelieving looks are exchanged.  
James never plays for them. Ever.  
  
The occasional cocking about on a keyboard for the show doesn't count.  
This here is on an entirely different level.  
And James has always made it clear that it is too intimate, that he feels self-conscious about his standing as a motoring journalist with a music degree, that he doesn't want to be exposed and that they are never to ask him to play for real, ever.  
And so they haven't.  
  
And Richard can clearly see now why that is, why he wouldn't want to.  
James looks transformed, entirely changed, completely laid open and vulnerable.  
Soft and relaxed and entirely unguarded.  
He is swaying slightly but his hands are sure on the keys, a remarkable feat considering his current level of inebriation.  
He is stunningly beautiful.  
  
Richard, like everyone in the room, has gone utterly still, transfixed.  
And then James looks up, looks straight at Richard, and a soft, mellow smile plays over his face. They stare at each other for long seconds, the rest of the room fades away and the world narrows down to just _them_ , just the two of them.  
The intensity of the moment is overwhelming.  
  
And then somewhere a glass shatters and the spell is broken and Richard reels back, almost knocks over his chair in his haste to get to his feet, and out, just _away_.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It's freezing cold outside and of course Richard didn't bring his parka or his hat.  
What a smart move that was.  
But in order to get to his room he'd need to go through the bar area again, pass James, in full view of the others, and that is just out.  
  
Richard breathes deeply, shivering violently in the sub-zero temperatures, but it helps.  
Somewhat.  
Just not enough.  
  
He walks down the driveway, falls into a trot, then a jog, rounds the hotel complex twice at a steady pace. He concentrates on nothing but his breathing, the steady rhythm of his feet muted on the packed snow.  
It's familiar and calming. It clears his head.  
  
When he gets back to the hotel, ears and nose pink from the cold, his breath a white cloud in front of his face, he doesn't feel drunk anymore.  
  
Jeremy is standing there smoking, just in front of the entrance, and when Richard draws up to him he wordlessly holds the thick padded jacket Richard had left hanging over his chair for him to shrug into and Richard is amazed, once more, by Jeremy's easy perceptiveness, his silent support. His care.  
Then again, the man has three kids.  
  
Jeremy lights a second fag on the butt of his own and hands it over. Richard takes it and gratefully inhales.  
  
"If _you_ won't talk to him, _I_ will", Jeremy says eventually and he, too, seems to have sobered up considerably in the cold Norwegian air.  
Or maybe he was less drunk than it appeared in the first place, it's always difficult to tell with Jeremy.  
  
"Please don't."  
  
"This is ridiculous and we can't go on like this and you know it."  
  
"Jezza, please."  
  
"Richard. I don't know what to think anymore."  
  
Richard is silent.  
  
Jeremy flicks ash off into the snow. "What do you want, Richard? What would you want if you could choose? "  
  
Now that is an easy one to answer. "I want it all to go back to normal. I want Syria to never have happened. I want us to be how we used to be."  
  
"I think that ship has pretty much sailed, don't you?” Jeremy stubs out his cigarette and lights a new one.  
"This here, what we have, is very important to me", he says, staring straight ahead. "And I like to believe it's important to you two, too. So we have to make it work. Anything you want to do that works is good enough for me, I don’t care which way it goes. As long as you don’t forget about me. But we need to find something that works. Because right now, it doesn't."  
  
The words bubble up without conscious thought, straining to get out, and Richard is simply unable to stop them.  
"I'm so scared”, he whispers and it kind of surprises even him, because he is, he really is, and he never was, not even after the accident, because he'd always known his friends would be there for him whatever the outcome.  
But that's exactly what’s at stake right now.  
This unconditional loyalty.  
Their never-questioned unity.  
  
There is a change in dynamics in the works that is tremendously frightening.  
  
Jeremy looks at him, long and hard, and Richard can see compassion there, non-judgmental and sincere. But also each and every single one of his own fears, mirrored in Jeremy's expressive eyes, and Richard shrinks away from it, thrown by his own admission and the guilt of being the cause of it all.  
  
Before either of them can say anything else there is a loud bang from somewhere inside and then James comes crashing through the door, all uncoordinated indignation. "Where have you been? I gave a concert!"  
  
Richard steadies him on instinct, grabbing onto his elbow so he doesn't tumble down the few steps, then hands over the remains of his fag.  
"That you did. It was... surprising."  
  
"But you didn't listen", James declares accusingly, taking a drag.  
  
He shrugs Richard's hand off.  
  
"Did you want me to listen, then?" Richard asks.  
Because he can see an opportunity there. Maybe.  
  
"No", James says, pouting a bit. And that, huh, that is an uncommon sight.  
He turns a huge, sappy smile on Jeremy. "Because Jezza did. Jezza is my bestest friend."  
  
And of course James is drunk. And high on music and endorphins.  
But it hurts nevertheless.  
  
And the opportunity is gone, of course. Not that there ever was one, not really.  
Not with James this hammered.  
  
"Come on, Captain Amadeus", Jeremy says, slinging an arm around James' shoulders and taking the fag out of his hand to stub it out in the ashtray. "Time for you to go to bed."  
  
Jeremy does not get shaken off.  
  
Richard trails behind them, head spinning.  
And yeah, it's probably not from the alcohol.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Richard's night passes in a flurry of very little sleep and a kaleidoscope of confusing images and distorted dreams.  
  
He is down at breakfast among the first. Only Andy and Russell are already there, heatedly discussing sound quality of yesterday's filming material.  
  
Richard choses a table well away from them and orders both coffee and tea.  
  
Jeremy appears soon after, already with a can of opened Red Bull in his hand and "Whoa, mate, have you slept at all?!?"  
  
"No", Jeremy grunts, pushing past Richard and making straight for the coffee on Andy and Russell's table.  
  
Richard refills his own cup and butters some toast. Thank god it's not a filming day or Jeremy would be mainlining coffee and Red Bull on a diet of cigarettes all day and they would constantly have to worry about him falling over from a heart attack.  
  
The crew come stumbling down one by one and Richard obviously doesn't look like very good company or maybe they take their cues from Jeremy, because they all keep away from him, which is just as well.  
  
Finally, finally James makes it downstairs, looking hungover and very much the worse for wear, but definitely functional.  
  
He is still wearing that blasted shirt and he, of course, sits down at Richard's table without hesitation.  
And Richard, of course, has the tea ready.  
He nudges the pot over and James pours himself a cup, brings it up to his nose and inhales with a blissed out expression.  
  
Richard half expects another joking declaration of love, but it doesn't come.  
  
"Was I a cock to you, last night?" James asks after two cups of tea and some dry toast consumed in silence.  
  
"You're always a cock", Richard replies on autopilot.  
  
James holds his gaze, the very picture of anxious determination.  
"I’m serious. You seem off, somehow. Towards me, especially. Have done, for quite a while actually."  
  
Richard almost laughs out loud, but he can see how serious James is. And how he is making an effort even though it costs him.  
And maybe this is his opportunity, right here, in a crowded breakfast room in Norway.  
"Mate", Richard plays with the sugar, unsure of how to word it. "Be honest, ok? Do you feel like things are changing between us?"  
  
Confusion flashes in James' eyes. Quickly followed by panic. "No, why? Do _you_? What have I done?"  
  
And it's asked with such alarm, such frightened apprehension that Richard immediately backpedals.  
  
"Nothing. Nothing, mate." He’s trying for assuring but clearly failing. "It's just... I have a couple of things going on at the moment and I can’t really see straight, but if nothing has changed, that's good. It’s important. This is important."  
  
"Richard..." James is clearly at a complete loss and more than a little freaked. Oh bloody hell, this is getting ever worse.  
  
"Are we good?" Richard asks.  
  
"I couldn’t be sure anymore, but I bloody well hope that we are." James looks so confused, Richard actually feels sorry for him.  
  
Next to being relieved beyond measure. "We are”, he exhales, sure now that it was all his imagination, that James is not consciously playing games with him. Looking straight at James with all the sincerity he can muster, and that’s a lot, because _they are good_ and that is the only thing that counts: "We really are. I just need a bit to get my shit together, but we're good. We are definitely good."  
  
He watches the relief flood James' face, washing his features clear of the anxiety and worry that has been evident through their frankly bizarre exchange.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" James asks and Richard appreciates it so much because he knows how uncomfortable it would make James, how big even just the offer is, coming from him.  
  
"Nah, mate. Maybe some other time. Cheers, though.”  
  
And if there had been any doubt left, any at all, it is now utterly clear to Richard that he will deal. That nothing has changed for James and that is how it's going to be.  
It's how Richard wants it to be, because this, them, all three of them, is the best and most important thing in the world and it’s not worth risking it for anything.  
  
They smile at each other, a little uneasily, but more open and honest than they have managed in a while.  
  
Which is when Jeremy comes wandering over.  
  
"What's with yesterday's shirt, May?" he asks, sitting down with coffee in one hand and his second Red Bull of the day in the other.  
  
"What's with it?" James asks.  
  
"You're wearing it again."  
  
"It's my favourite and I forgot to pack another, Clarkson, not that it's any of your business." James leans forward and plucks the can of Red Bull out of Jeremy's hand. "We're not filming today, so go easy on these, will you, you twat."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Things do actually go back to normal after that.  
It's a little bit surprising how easy it is but they transition smoothly back to the uncomplicated camaraderie they'd had before.  
  
And if Richard drives James home from the airport after Norway even though it's out of his way, and if there are a couple more texts exchanged over the weekend than before, and if they make plans to find one of the few Fiat Barchettas registered in Britain and buy and restore it together over the summer hiatus, then that's just the way things change.  
  
Jeremy catches Richard alone in the portacabin Tuesday evening right after he's tried out the effects of helium on his voice for a possible gag in the '2000£ Convertible'-challenge, and some merciless piss-taking ensues on both sides.  
  
But when Richard eventually runs out of witty rejoinders, flips Jeremy off with two fingers and turns to leave, Jeremy swiftly grabs him in a half-hug on the way past.  
A "thank you for making it work" is murmured into his hair before he is released and shoved roughly out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

They arrive at the office early on Monday morning to the news that Bentley has changed their mind and won't be delivering the new Mulsanne to Corfu for Jeremy to drive in Albania.  
  
There is a lot of shouting down phone lines from a lot of different people and in several different languages because they leave on Tuesday evening and aren't there things like agreements and commitments?  
  
At one point James gets up, unceremoniously plucks the handset out of Jeremy's fingers and tries calm and reason.  
A couple of minutes later, though, the seemingly sensible attempt ends with him taking it away from his ear again, giving it a bemused look and handing it back to Jeremy.  
  
In the midst of the ruckus, someone has thankfully remembered to make tea and they gather around a bar table, the three of them and Andy, and Richard Porter, and Hannah, their head researcher.  
  
There is a considerable amount of consternation and even more frustration, because yes, sure, their team is bloody brilliant and Richard has full confidence in each and every one of them, but finding another luxury saloon that is not a Mercedes or a Rolls and which can also be delivered to Corfu in less than two days is no easy feat.  
  
"Why don't we just tell the viewers the truth, get some stupid local car and pretend it's the Bentley?”  
  
And it's not just those gathered around the table, everyone within earshot falls completely silent.  
  
James smiles a little shyly at suddenly being the centre of attention, but he is never shy about his ideas for the show. "It would add some extra comedy and might also piss them off a bit."  
  
And Jeremy makes a move as if to thump James' shoulder, but he checks himself in time and claps his own hands together instead.  
  
"Albert Einstein May", he says, stabbing a finger at him, and a second later he is back at his desk, attacking the keyboard in his usual rapid-fire two-fingered staccato.  
  
James shrugs at Richard and he looks so adorably pleased, Richard's heart just about bursts with pride and fondness.  
  
"Good one, May", Andy says, apparently still slightly dumbfounded that the idea hadn't been his or Jeremy's.  
  
There is another beat of silence where everyone stares at James and then they all spring into action, because even if procuring a local car seems easy to accomplish, Jeremy will already be spilling over with additional ideas and requirements and they really, really don't have much time.  
  
Richard falls into altogether unprompted giggling and mentally adds one more thing to the list of 'things I love best about being a bloke off Top Gear', and James joins in, even though he can't have the slightest idea of what is going through Richard's head.  
  
"We are, in fact, at the cutting edge of cocking about", James whispers, a phrase Richard had invented, years and years ago, and Richard dissolves completely in the face of James quoting his own words back at him.  
  
"If you two pillocks are quite finished, maybe we could get some work done?" Jeremy says, looking up from where he and Hannah are bent over his computer.  
  
His expression is fond though, and there is a smile playing around his lips.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
After a late-night arrival on Corfu, Wednesday morning finds them on the earliest ferry to Saranda in Albania.  
  
They are all a bit tired but spirits are high, everyone is in a playful mood and Jeremy's Yugo-cum-Bentley provides more entertainment, on as well as off camera, than the real Bentley could ever have and it more than makes up for the unusual amount of re-takes. Not because Jeremy can’t keep a straight face, but rather because he _does_ , which has Richard and James completely losing it several times.  
  
Everyone is happy. Even Andy.  
And a happy Andy sometimes means some extra time to do with what _they_ want, which is how they end up in a former submarine base and in an MIG scrap yard.  
Richard watches James and Jeremy gush, pretends to be annoyed and thinks once again how unspeakably lucky he is and that no, he would not trade or jeopardize this for anything in the world.  
  
In the afternoon of the second day, Richard references his accident in a piece to camera. It's not a conscious thing, it just kind of happens.  
  
When he comes down for dinner, he immediately knows the other two know about it by their uneasy silence. And by the way Jeremy asks if he’s alright.  
Someone of the crew has told them, maybe even shown them.  
  
It's somehow fitting that it's not even Richard who is bothered the most by it, even though _he_ had originally been the one asking them to never mention it again.  
But James’ accident had been his first indication, when through all of it he hadn’t ever even thought about his own, and the parallels. He is over it. Completely. He doesn't even care if they use it for the show or not.  
  
They eat mostly in silence and then Jeremy very carefully says: "I've had an idea."  
  
And of course the whole bank robbing/getaway car scene is pre-planned, but Jeremy has come up with a new ending to it, no doubt sparked by Richard's life support comment and recent events.  
  
"Oh, for christ's sake!" James mutters, grabs his cigarettes and disappears.  
  
And Richard has to admit that he isn't very fond of the idea himself, of ‘killing’ James off. But the press is already all over James' accident, rehashing Richard's in the process, and it will become even worse when the Special is shown. Which will be in a week or so.  
  
They need a reaction.  
And they can't stop being themselves just because Richard is a little bit of a lot in love with his co-presenter and they have now a few times come a bit too close for comfort to cocking things up in the ultimate way.  
  
"If I get to say the 'Anyway', count me in."  
  
"Sure?" Jeremy asks and Richard can tell that he isn't all that convinced himself, that all it would take would be for Richard to say no. But Richard is determined to prove to himself and everyone else that they are back to normal.  
And not scared.  
  
"Sure", he confirms. "I'll go talk to him."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"We agreed never to talk about it again, Hammond, and here you go giving Jeremy stupid ideas", James says before Richard has even spotted him behind the big flower pot on the hotel's terrace.  
  
Richard rounds the plant and leans against the wall next to James, who promptly hands his half-smoked fag over for Richard to have a drag.  
  
"We shouldn't joke about such things", James says, when Richard hands it back.  
  
"But see, I think we should." Richard says quietly. "Goes nicely with our image and makes it all a bit less scary."  
  
"No, it doesn't", James disagrees roughly.  
  
Richard sighs. "No, it doesn't. Still. We can't be scared. I think we should do it."  
  
James inhales a deep lungful of smoke.  
"Why do we have to talk about it, all of a sudden?" he sounds desperate. "First, you bring it up at mine. Then you mention it _on camera_ for no reason whatsoever and now Jeremy", his breath hitches and he takes a quick drag from his cigarette, "now Jeremy brings up that rubbish _joke_ again and I thought we were completely and utterly done with that one and..."  
  
"James." Richard grabs James' elbow and James winds down immediately. They look at each other for a couple of long seconds, and then James very deliberately steps away from Richard's hold.  
  
"I can't talk about it. And I don't want to think about it", James mutters.  
  
Richard uses the hand that has been shaken off to nick the fag again and smokes it to the butt in three quick drags.  
  
“You scared me, too, you know", he says. "And Jezza. But you're ok, and I'm ok. And we can't let these accidents stand in the way of us being us. Because that's something we can't lose. Seriously mate, I couldn't bear losing that."  
  
James looks at him for a beat with the oddest expression on his face. Richard tries to figure it out, tries to work out what he looks so bewildered about, but before he gets anywhere close, his brain shortcuts.  
Because, in an altogether unprecedented move, James reaches out and pulls Richard into a quick, jerky, one-armed hug.  
  
It doesn't last more than a second before he's let go and pushed past Richard and into the hotel and Richard stands there, shivery and disbelieving, thrown to hell and back.  
  
He finds Jeremy and James huddled around a table with Andy, running the idea past him and making last-minute arrangements.  
It's not much, they can fake the crash afterwards, it's just a couple of additional lines and a tiny bit of acting for James and a ‘James is dead’ – ‘... Anyway!’-moment for Jeremy and Richard on the ferry.  
Richard is very grateful that he claimed the 'Anyway!'-line from the get-go.  
  
Jeremy's eyes meet Richard's over the table and Richard is certain that he, too, knows exactly how much more significant than just a throwaway gag this all is.  
  
They are still piecing themselves back together in more ways than one.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Jeremy may be the last down for breakfast, but he makes the loudest entrance by far.  
  
"Gentlemen!" he booms, almost knocking Richard face-first into his coffee when he slaps his back on the way past.  
Not that Richard doesn’t need it. The coffee, that is. But preferably down his throat instead of up his nose, thank you very much.  
  
He groans, quickly refills his cup and knocks it back like a shot, wincing as it burns its way across his tongue and down his throat.  
But chirpy, hangover-free Jeremy at 5.30 in the morning calls for desperate measures.  
  
Jeremy loads his plate and plonks into a chair at their table, grinning eagerly, looking from one to the other.  
  
James stirs his tea.  
"Good morning, Clarkson", he says levelly.  
  
"It is, isn't it?" Jeremy beams.  
  
"Did you sleep?" Richard asks, resignedly.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I did, yes!"  
  
"Yeah, thought so. It's annoying", Richard murmurs, but it's mostly around a smile.  
  
"Do you two have plans for the weekend?" Jeremy completely disregards him.  
  
And it's not the smartest move to shake one's head at that question when it’s posed by Jeremy, but then again it's very early in the morning and Richard is still slightly under-caffeinated.  
  
James, on the other hand, is already awake enough to keep his answering grunt noncommittal and pointedly refills Richard's coffee cup once more.  
  
"I have been thinking", Jeremy declares.  
  
"Oh, please don't!" James and Richard groan as one, smiling at each other over the table.  
  
"Hear me out, chaps, hear me out, I think this is a good one." And yes, he is positively giddy. "Studio filming starts a week from Wednesday. Things are going to be crazy. So why don't we stay in Corfu for the weekend?" His expression shifts to hopeful. "Re-fuel? Have some fun? Just the three of us?"  
  
"What about Francie?" James asks carefully.  
  
"She's on the Isle of Man with the kids. Her mom is in hospital."  
  
"Ah", James says.  
  
"I'm not asking because of that. Isn’t it just the perfect opportunity? Don't you think?" He sounds a bit unsure now. As if they might laugh at him.  
  
But it's actually quite fantastic.  
"Mate, I'm in!" Richard finishes up his latest cup of coffee, feeling much more awake already.  
  
Jeremy grins. They both turn on James.  
  
"Yeahyeah, alright", James says and the sparkle in his eyes belies his grudging tone.  
  
"Yes!" Richard pumps a fist in the air.  
  
"See? My ideas are brilliant!"  
  
"They really are not, but this one isn't too bad, I guess", James concedes. "For once."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They film the bank robbery, the car chase, James' Sundance moment. Jeremy looks into the camera and says: "So... James is dead."

Richard waits a beat before continuing with a cheerful: "... Anyway!"  
And it helps, maybe, that James is hovering in the background for it.  
  
Everyone starts to pack up as soon as they get off the ferry on Corfu and they only now realize that they haven't quite told anyone that they are staying.  
  
Andy gives them a slightly dubious look, then indicates the crew who's mostly ready to leave.  
"You realise you're on your own, don't you? Hotel, cars, flight back home...?"  
  
"Yes, yes", Jeremy waves dismissively. "We're not exactly helpless, you know?"  
  
Andy pointedly looks from one to the other.  
  
"Hopeless though we may be, some of us", James mutters while Andy raises an eyebrow, then shrugs.  
  
"Well, get your stuff out of the vans then and have fun, I guess."  
  
"Can we keep the Merc for the weekend?" Jeremy calls after him.  
  
"Well I wouldn't know, would I? We are actually supposed to leave it at the airport."  
  
"I'll call them!" Richard offers. He is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet and he can't quite stop himself. He is giddily excited.  
He hasn't been on a trip abroad for ages. It’s mostly the Lake District with Mindy and her girls, these days, or being invited to join Jeremy and his family in their Isle of Man holiday cottage.  
Travelling abroad is mostly done for work.  
Apart from that one week last year in Marbella with his brothers which… well. He doesn't really remember any of that.  
  
It's just two days but it's such an unexpected treat he can't quite stop grinning.  
  
He gets the relevant number off Richard Porter and quickly rearranges for the Merc to be picked up on Monday instead of today.  
They don’t even consider keeping the Rolls, too. Maybe they would have, if they'd also had a real Bentley. But two cars for the three of them is just not an option they even need to discuss.  
  
They load the car with their bags, leave the tent, which is always in the boot for emergencies, with the crew but add their sleeping bags, just in case. They wave goodbye, watch the crew convoy drive off and then they are alone.  
  
Jeremy is still in possession of the Merc’s keys, of course. It’s not like he would have given them up voluntarily after filming ended.  
But when Richard goes to climb in the backseat as he usually does when they share a car, because he very much prefers to preempt them ganging up on him and pointing out his lack of height, Jeremy steps in his way and hands over the keys without any hoo-ha whatsoever.  
  
And now Richard is positively beaming. His face might just split in two.  
James grins at him, winks at Jeremy and climbs into the backseat instead.  
  
And ok, maybe the big saloon isn’t really suited to the narrow roads of Corfu, but with the cameras gone they feel like kids on a field trip without their parents.  
Richard takes the bends with extra flourish, Jeremy fiddles with the radio and James keeps up a steady commentary about their surroundings from the backseat. Which is a clear sign of how relaxed and happy he is.  
  
There is one fact they haven't quite accounted for, though.  
It's Orthodox Easter.  
Which is beyond amazing, but also means that half the island has shut down for the festivities and the other half is full to bursting.  
  
By late afternoon they have been turned away by six consecutive hotels and Richard gives up. Defying the insistent and vociferous protest of his colleagues, he pulls into a nice little campground under olive trees with a beautiful view of the sea.  
  
"We didn't bring a tent, Hammond", James reminds him mildly.  
  
"Trust me", Richard says, pulling up in front of the reception building.  
  
Jeremy groans theatrically and Richard laughs. This was certainly not the plan, but it's somehow fitting the field-trip-kind-of-feeling they have going on here.  
  
And that's how they end up in a tent.  
  
Granted, it's a big tent, a solid structure with real, if sparse, furniture. Three beds, a stool, a shelf. Designed to be rented out like a very basic cabin. Glamping, Richard thinks the word might be. He’s heard it from Mindy.  
  
The bunch of backpackers sitting around a fire in the next lot over gape at them when they squeeze the huge Mercedes into the adjacent spot, and then Richard falls over giggling while Jeremy and James do a little impromptu review of the tent.  
It ends with all three of them roaring with laughter and, looking at the threadbare sheets, very glad they have at least brought their own sleeping bags.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They make friends with the backpackers by means of a couple of beers bought at the tiny camping store. Or maybe more than just a couple. It's always a good idea to make allies when in public places, it helps prevent compromising material from reaching the tabloids.  
  
And it's a very nice spot, this.  
A hillside location overlooking a little bay with a small, sandy beach.  
Someone has prepared pizza dough and they twist it around sticks and grill it over the fire and then James disappears for a while and comes back with a load of undefinable sausages which they skewer onto the same sticks and barbeque over the flames.  
Jeremy shares his fags and Richard finds a bottle of gin and someone has brought a guitar and lets Richard have a go. And it's been a while and he's a bit rusty, but he launches straight into _Forever in Blue Jeans_ , laughing when he sees that James gets it and they both belt out the title line in Jeremy's direction with relish and abandon.  
  
There's a bit of applause and, feeling bolder, Richard tries R.E.M.’s _Losing My Religion_ because he knows both Jeremy and James like that one and it was also one of his own favourites from when he still sporadically played with his mates in the garage.  
And sure enough, even Jeremy is singing along now, loudly leading the chorus.  
And not a single mobile makes an appearance.  
  
The guitar goes back to its very skilled owner and one song leads to the other, from _All Summer Long_ to _Take it Easy_ , from _Daydream Believer_ to _I Can See Clearly Now_ , until the camping warden asks them to please tone it down, they are not alone in the campground.  
  
They stay outside by the fire, talking and smoking until long after their newfound friends have gone to sleep, and Richard is reminded of _that night_ so much, he repeatedly turns around to check if there isn't a Bedouin-tented Fiat lurking in the background after all.  
  
They stumble into their glamper tent late in the early morning hours, all three slightly tipsy but in the best of moods. And who would have thought that re-enacting teenage camping trips would be so much fun?  
  
They quickly wash up in the common area and then there is a lot of fumbling and laughter trying to get their sleeping bags out and ready and themselves inside, because of course none of them has thought to bring a torch.  
  
Eventually Richard and Jeremy are all snuggled up and ready to sleep, only James is still fumbling around, muttering under his breath and occasionally banging things together or colliding with solid stuff. It’s astonishing, really, as there aren’t even that many things in the tent to knock into.  
  
Something thumps to the wooden floorboards and, from the sounds of it, James pretty much crashes right after it. Jeremy groans "May, for heaven's sake!" but there is no response.  
James has gone from noisily flailing to utterly, utterly silent in a heartbeat.  
  
Richard shoots bolt-upright. "May?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"James, you ok, mate?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
Richard realises that Jeremy has gone very quiet next to him, too.  
  
Richard shuffles to the edge of the bed, reaching out a hand in the darkness. "James? Please tell me you haven't hit your head again or something?"  
  
He finally makes contact with an arm or a shoulder, but James jerks violently away.  
"I'm okay", he says, clearly aiming for gruff, but his voice sounds unsteady.  
  
"Mate...?" Jeremy asks, uncommonly unsure, but James cuts him off with a sharp "goodnight", crawls into bed and, finally, lies still.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Richard doesn't sleep very well. To say he is troubled about James’ behaviour would be an understatement and, well, Jeremy snores.  
  
James doesn't snore.  
  
Which most probably means he doesn't sleep.  
  
He is chipper enough and ready to go in the morning, though, so Richard and Jeremy exchange a look, shrug it off and march over to the little shop to find a map of the island and coffee to go.  
  
It's the most perfect day they've had in a while.  
They get tea from a delightful little shack at a scenic lookout, watch Easter processions and the shattering of pottery in some village they come across, then have lunch at a beach café before going for a leisurely tour of the island, switching drivers every so often.  
  
The atmosphere is happy and relaxed, alive with laughter and full of good-natured ribbing. But Richard can't quite shake the feeling that James keeps even more of a physical distance from him and Jeremy than he usually does. He does seem content enough, though, and enthusiastically takes part in the proceedings, so he shrugs it off.  
  
The midnight candlelight and fireworks spectacle is probably the most beautiful thing Richard has seen in his life so far and even Jeremy is awed into speechless wonder until long after they are back in their glampy tenty.  
  
Sleep comes easy and is peaceful that night.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Jeremy has booked them on one of the last flights off Corfu that day, so they spend most of the day driving from beautiful beach to historic town to secluded bay to beautiful beach.  
  
Richard takes a dip in the still chilly waters in his boxers and he is sure he can feel eyes on him.  
But when he turns around, treading water, Jeremy is bent over the road map and James is looking for shells at the shoreline.  
  
He goes commando for the rest of the day and Jeremy can't seem to stop making lewd comments and Richard is so far gone that he imagines a slight blush on James' cheeks every time it comes up, but it doesn't distract him too much from the enjoyment of the bantering.  
  
And maybe it isn't quite that imaginary after all, because of course he knows for a fact  that James must feel at least somewhat attracted to him, on some level, a little bit at least, or Syria wouldn't have happened. But allowing that thought would most certainly send him down a rabbit hole.   
So imaginary is what it is.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Forehead pressed tightly against plexiglass, Richard watches the lights of the island fall away beneath him.  
He would never say it out loud, but this weekend has been outright magical.  
And how the bloody hell did they ever get this lucky?  
  
Whatever had he done right in a previous life to get _this_ lucky?


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Richard gets home it's past midnight and he is beyond beat.  
He nevertheless takes the time to shower the sand and salt off his skin before falling straight into bed.  
  
It feels like he has barely even closed his eyes by the time his alarm clock rings. And how unfair is that?  
He swats at it a couple of times with less than decent coordination, but it just won't cease. He finally makes himself wake up enough to work out that it isn't the alarm, it's his... phone?... Christ, no... it's the doorbell!  
  
He shoots out of bed, sure he's overslept.  
Fumbles for the light.  
It's 3am.  
  
The person outside keeps leaning on the doorbell.  
There must a fire or something.  
  
He almost falls over the bedpost in his haste, stubs his toe violently on the sideboard trying to grab his wallet and mobile at the same time as shrugging into a t-shirt, and makes for the door.  
  
He tears it open, ready for just about anything, and comes face to face with... James.  
  
James in an old, threadbare Honda t-shirt and striped pyjama bottoms. His hair a frankly appalling nest of tangled locks and unruly strands pointing every which way.  
And the pebble.  
The pebble from the Syrian desert in his outstretched hand.  
  
"Richard." He says, his voice wretched and pleading.  
  
Richard stares, trying to make the transition from flight mode to friend mode without detouring through fight mode.  
  
He wordlessly steps out of the way and closes the door behind James.  
  
Trying to catch up with the fact that James is here, now, in the middle of the night, standing in his hallway, looking awkward and lost, pebble still in the palm of his hand, Richard feels everything crashing over him all at once, taking his breath away and rooting him to the spot.  
  
"Richard. Please. You have to tell me. Was it real?" James rasps. "Was it?"  
  
And Richard wants to run away, wants to deny it all, does not want to take the risk, not now, not now that he's finally managed to deal. Not now that everything is working out so well.  
But at the same time he wants to be wrapped up in James's arms, wants to be held close. Wants it all so much.  
  
He can't move, can't breathe.  
  
"Not real..?" James whispers. And it's more breath, less words.  
Defeated before Richard has even uttered a single word.  
  
Richard reaches out a hand, detachedly acknowledges it's trembling, folds it around the pebble, around James' fingers, anyway.  
"We laughed", he says, and it's strained, strangled. He forces another breath into constricted lungs. "Because it gave me a bruise to remember you by."  
  
James' face crumples. He wrenches his hand away, and the pebble, and turns his back on Richard, shoulders heaving.  
  
Richard half expects him to run and he knows, knows that right now, he wouldn't be able to stop him.  
  
And it's kind of ironic because James being seen storming out of Richard's place in his PJ's would certainly take care of things. A lot of things.  
Which reminds him that it's also pretty much the way James has arrived and oh, bollocks.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" James asks, still turned away.  
And he sounds dangerous now, quiet and dangerous, as dangerous as Richard has only ever heard him once before. In Bolivia, when he'd told Jeremy to stop driving into him. He'd said it on camera, being very serious about it and Jeremy hadn't stopped and then he'd caught Jeremy away from the cameras and told him again. In _this_ voice.  
  
And it had given Richard the chills then, when it wasn't even directed at him.  
It gives him the shivers now.  
  
"Because you didn't seem to remember a thing and we have a show to make and Jeremy said..."  
  
" _Jeremy_ knows???"  
  
And ok, bad move. Badbadbad move.  
James finally turns back around and Richard wishes he hadn't. His face is thunderous.  
  
"Who else? Who else knows more about my sex life than I do??"  
  
"No one. Just Jez. I needed to talk to _someone_. _"_ _  
  
_"So you thought it best to talk to Jeremy, instead of, say, for example, well… me?"  
  
And Richard finally opts for honesty.  
And lashing out.  
Lashing out is always a safe strategy when threatened.  
  
"I’m scared, ok?" he shouts. "We're living this dream and it's so fucking important to me you have no idea, and one wrong move and it all goes to hell and you, you're not making it easier, you keep talking about not wanting a relationship and you keep pushing me away and then not, and then yes, and then not, and you could have said something, too, because I tried, but you're giving me all these mixed signals and I can't read you, I just can't read you and you are too important to me to lose over a stupid mistake and how was I to know..."  
  
"Hammo..." James says, lost, when Richard has to draw breath, and Richard crashes, crashes hard and fast, tears spilling over, of rage, no, despair more like, and he launches himself forward and into James without a second thought.  
  
And he's caught, of course he's caught.  
  
James wraps his arms around him, pulls him close, holds him tightly, so very tightly, whispering 'shhh' and 'alright' and 'Hammo' and 'you cock' and 'you stupid, stupid man' and all of it over and over and over again.  
  
Until Richard calms down a bit, just a bit, but it's enough for James to step away slightly and lift Richard's chin with his index finger.  
  
"I thought it was a dream, you know? The concussion. My mind playing tricks on me. Anything. But impossible to be true. Much too good to be true."  
  
"But then, then why didn't you let me in?" Richard asks, hating the way his voice quivers. "I tried. After we came back. I tried so hard."  
  
"Because I'm a mess, Hammond. And I couldn't let myself believe."  
  
Richard reaches up and smoothes down some of the flyaway hair, tucks a strand behind James' ear. It's a useless attempt at taming it, but that's not the goal, is not the intention.  
  
"You're not. You're amazing. A bit daft, maybe, but pretty amazing."  
  
And it's he who has to close the distance, because James just keeps looking at him with eyes full of doubt and brimming with wonder.  
But when he does, when Richard does, when he moves his hand to the nape of James' neck, when he stands slightly on tiptoe to be able to reach, when he finally brings their lips together in the softest of touches, James comes to him as if there had never been any. Any doubt, any insecurities, any questions. Whatsoever.  
  
The pebble thumps to the floor once again, landing on carpet this time, James’ eyes close, one hand goes into Richard's hair while the other twists into Richard's t-shirt at the small of his back, keeping him close. And Richard could almost cry once again, because it's such a relief, it feels so absolutely, utterly, undeniably _right_.  
  
He doesn't, because there has been far too much of that, lately.  
But it's a close thing.  
  
Instead, he winds his arms around James even tighter and keeps on kissing him with all that he has.  
And James lets him.  
Gives as good as he gets.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They do end up on Richard's bed, on their sides facing each other, having made the transition somehow without letting go of each other even once.  
  
"Do you remember everything?" Richard asks.  
  
"I don't know. Probably. Which part exactly?"  
  
Richard hesitates. Saying it out loud for the second time feels almost like jinxing it. "We wanted it to be serious. Not just... fun. Well, of course fun, but... you know. For real."  
  
James strokes a thumb down Richard's cheek, looking for all the world as if he were doing something daring.  
"Yes", he says. And then: "I'm not good at this."  
  
"What?"  
  
"This relationship malarkey. I'm seriously, seriously rubbish at it. I've cocked up every single one I've had so far."  
  
Richard grins at him. "Well, so have I. Which means we can be rubbish at it together. What else is new?"  
  
James grins back and darts forward for a kiss, but then his face clouds over once more. "What will Jeremy say?"  
  
And Richard grins even more, because he knows the answer to that and it's an amazing one, almost the best thing about it all. Well, not really, but it makes things exponentially better. And easier.  
  
"He'll be alright", he says. "Seriously, mate, he'll be happy. He's been bugging me to talk to you all this time. The only condition he has is that we make it work so we can stay what we are, the three of us. And not to forget about him. But I think we can do that."  
  
By the way James pounces on him after that, Richard can tell just exactly how important Jeremy's blessing is to him, too.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
And it's so much like that time under the desert sky, but then again, in so many ways... not.  
  
There isn't the need to be quiet, for example.  
Of course it's not as if Richard would want to alert the whole neighbourhood and James isn't the most vocal person at any given time.  
  
But he makes the most adorable humming noises when kissing along Richard's collarbone and Richard revels in the experience of being able to let his head fall back on an unrestrained groan, the hum vibrating through his body right down to the tips of his toes.  
  
James re-emerges, perched on his elbows over Richard and smiles down at him, shy and wondrous.  
"This is real, then?" he asks and it's less than half a joke.  
  
Richard threads his fingers through fuzzy hair and tugs him down for another kiss.  
"Definitely real", he confirms, when he can bear to let go again.  
James just looks at him for another long moment before collapsing onto Richard in a heavy, mellow heap.  
  
Richard gathers him close, noticing he's trembling, slight twitches of muscle, ragged breaths.  
Richard holds on tightly for a bit, then rolls them back on their sides so they’re facing each other again.  
James is clearly concentrating on breathing regularly and that's just plain the wrong place for his concentration to be when he’s in Richard's bed.  
Still, this is James, and sometimes James needs careful handling.  
A thing which Richard is more than ready to provide under the circumstances.  
  
He runs his hand through James' hair, stroking it like he's always wanted, like he's never been allowed.  
  
"It bears repeating maybe", he says, quietly, sincerely. "That I never knew, before Syria, that this is what I want. But once I had it, it was clear that it's exactly what I've always wanted. And when I lost it... you are more important, James. I was prepared to let it go. But it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. And if you want me, you have me. I'm yours. And I’m in for the long run."  
  
James looks at him wordlessly, searchingly. His concentration is now on Richard, his breathing shot to hell. Erratic, irregular breaths, impossibly providing enough oxygen.  
  
"I mean it", Richard confirms again, running his hand down the side of James' face, cupping his cheek.  
  
James draws in a gasping breath, more of a sob. "I have never..." he trails off.  
  
"Neither have I”, Richard assures him. "I know."  
  
"No, you don't! I can't do emotions, I have never been in a meaningful relationship before. I'm a mess, Richard, it's not just a joke.”  
  
"You have been in a meaningful relationship with me and Jeremy for years, James", Richard says gently. "That counts. Don't think I don't know what I'm in for."  
  
There's desperation in James' eyes, tinged with disbelief, and Richard leans forward once more, closes the gap for a thorough kiss.  
He can tell the exact moment when James gives in, relaxes somewhat. Exhales against Richard's lips and kisses back.  
  
Richard draws back slightly, still playing with unruly strands of hair.  
"And I think you know what you're in for, too. I'm not always sunshine and giggles, am I?"  
James snorts. Of course he knows, they've lived in each other's pockets far too long for him not to. But a reminder sure doesn't hurt.  
Richard changes his voice to a lighter tone. "And I go running in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. And I want coffee and original Cap'n Crunch for breakfast. And I'd sooner kill myself than go anywhere near your Panda, so if we go somewhere together, it has to be one of the Porsches. And that, my friend, is non-negotiable." He attempts his best stern look in combination with a warning finger but can't quite keep it up when it earns him a low chuckle.  
  
James lifts a hand and tugs at Richard's grown-out hair. Then, with a sudden, fluent move he flips them again so he is back on top and enthusiastically smothers Richard to within an inch of his life.  
  
When Richard regains his senses enough to become aware of his surroundings again, James has moved down, shoved up Richard's shirt and is trailing a line of teasing, fluttering kisses into the hollows of his hips. First right. Then left. Richard squirms, as much from enjoyment as from the tickling.  
  
"I've been trying to stay away from you for so, so long", James growls, the low rumbling tone going straight to Richard's cock.  
  
"No more", Richard gasps.  
  
"It's going to take some getting used to", James nuzzles into his belly, inhaling deeply and Richard shivers all over.  
  
"You're doing alright."  
  
James rests his forehead against Richard's abdomen and just breathes for a bit. His shoulders are shaking, whether from laughter or something else entirely, Richard can't quite tell. But then James looks up at him again with a smile equally sly as it is soppy and the intensity in his gaze makes Richard sit up abruptly and tear off his t-shirt, almost bucking James off his legs in the process.  
  
James' grin turns lascivious in a matter of seconds and his own shirt follows Richard's to the floor.  
  
And it's not exploring, what James does with Richard's body after that.  
It can't be called anything other than simple worshipping.  
  
Richard feels himself dissolve into a quivering mass of sensation, much of it pleasure, most of it something far, far deeper.  
  
And it's not even skill that's doing it, because this is clearly not something either of them has had a lot of practice with in their lives lately, although James is definitely not new to it.  
But there is so much reverence, so much wonder, such an incredible amount of adoration in every touch and every lingering kiss, it more than makes up for every awkward jostle, for every bit of overenthusiastic use of teeth, for every inadvertent knocking together of heads or elbows.  
  
And this time, Richard does cry out.  
  
James holds him through it, strokes his hair and talks him down with low soothing nonsense words and it takes Richard a good ten minutes to reassemble his scattered soul enough to become aware of anything other than wave after wave of pleasure and care and safety and comfort.  
  
He reaches for James with every intention of making him come just as undone.  
And for a good long while, it looks like he might just succeed. James trembles under him, skin hot under Richard's tongue, long drawn out keening sounds wrenched from his throat.  
But when Richard moves down and takes him in his mouth in one swift but gentle movement, James flinches so violently, Richard almost chokes.  
"Woah, careful there..." Richard complains, wiping his mouth and swallowing against the gag reflex.  
But he immediately crawls up to softly kiss a question against James' cheek, following it up with a clarifying: "Hmmm?"  
  
"I'm not sure", James says and he's nervous, skittish, clearly uncomfortable, looking everywhere but at Richard.  
And Richard gets it.  
  
He gets it and it's as much of a surprise to him, the fact that he gets it, as being here in the first place is.  
  
"Do you trust me?" he asks, kissing James' nose, lips skidding over his eyelids, lingering on his forehead.  
  
"Yes", James breathes. "Oh god Richard yes, so much."  
  
"Then do it. Trust me. Let go for me."  
  
And James focuses on him, really focuses, looks at Richard for a long time, then smiles, and nods, and closes his eyes.  
Richard kisses him again, just for good measure, before moving back down, taking his time over every inch of skin, every dip and every hollow, a bit of belly here, a hip bone there, that sweet birthmark just under his ribs.  
  
And it turns out that James can be very vocal after all.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They drift for a bit after that, in a position that can only be called cuddling. And Richard's mind boggles at that, at the very concept of being able to think about 'James' and 'cuddling' in the same context.  
Neither quite wants to fall asleep, is even remotely ready to give up this new-found sense of _here_ and _yes_ and _belonging_ and _safety_ and _comfort_ , not even in exchange for sleep.  
  
The alarm clock rings far too soon anyway.  
  
They disentangle reluctantly, resigned to getting through another day on next to no sleep. They will be alright. They all have done it before.  
It will mostly be voice-overs today anyway. The final touches to the Middle East Special and maybe a couple of the Norway bits. Nothing they will have to be in front of a camera for, no concealing make-up required.  
  
Richard takes a shower first and falls in love all over again when he gets out and smells coffee.  
  
"I'm gonna keep you. I might even buy some of the good tea for you", he declares, and James smiles shyly into his cheap Earl Grey.  
  
The pebble is on the table.  
Silent witness to it all.  
  
Richard shovels down some sugary cereal until, after the second cup of coffee, he realises that James is still standing there in his kitchen, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.  
  
"What?" Richard asks.  
  
"I don't suppose any of your clothes would fit me, would they?"  
  
And yeah. There is definitely milk up Richard's nose now.  
It's a challenge not to choke from either that, or the laughing.  
  
"Aaaw, mate, I'd love to see you try", he splutters at last and James flips him off before snatching a pair of boxers off a pile of clean laundry and disappearing into the bathroom.  
  
He reappears eventually, wearing last night's pyjama bottoms and a shirt that is far too tight.  
  
Richard laughs at him long and hard and without a hint of mercy.  
"I'll have to put you in a bag to get you to the car. If someone takes a picture of you like this...!"  
  
James looks slightly shifty again, and when has Richard become fluent in Jamesish?  
  
"I'm just saying it would be a bit early for public attention, is all", he says lightly before turning serious again. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"A bit uncomfortable", James says, adjusting the crotch of his certainly far too tight underpants.  
  
And well, that wasn't really the question, but the answer has to be good enough for now.  
  
"Ok for you if I ring Jezza?"  
  
James shrugs, clearly aiming for nonchalance to cover his nerves. Richard can see it in the tense set of his shoulders. In the way he takes the now-definitely-lucky pebble off the table as if it were a casual, mindless gesture, but then squeezes it in a white-knuckled grip.  
He nods, though.  
  
Richard sets his mobile on speakerphone and stands next to James. Close, but not touching.  
  
This is still James, after all.  
  
"Hammond!" Jeremy bellows over engine noise and _Genesis_. He is clearly driving and on hands-free. "Don’t tell me you overslept again?"  
  
"Uh, well, not exactly", Richard grins, reassuringly nudging a completely gone-rigid James with his elbow. "But we will both be in a bit late today. We need to swing by James' first, he forgot to bring any clothes."  
  
There's a moment of silence, then Jeremy says: "Hold on."  
Muttered cursing, some honking, more cursing, the sound of gravel crunching, then both the music and the engine noises cease abruptly.  
When Jeremy comes back, he sounds suddenly much closer, obviously having switched from hands-free to mobile.  
  
"Hammond. Are you shitting me?"  
  
"Nope. He turned up in his PJ's only and is now a Spaniel in Hamster clothes. You should see it. It's hilarious."  
  
There's another beat of silence and then Jeremy bursts out laughing. There are whooping noises and calls of “Yes! Yesyesyes!" and some steering wheel slapping and James looks astonished, and well, rather moved, too.  
Richard can't help but reach over and squeeze his arm.  
  
"You little pikey", Jeremy says when he's done making funny noises. It sounds almost awed. "You impossible little numpty. You’ll make it work, do you hear me?"  
  
And it's of course Jeremy's way to resort to insults when he's emotional.  
  
"We will, Jez, I promise", Richard says, hoping his voice conveys all the sincerity and gratitude he's feeling towards this man, who is such a huge part of it all.  
  
"Is he there? Can he hear me?"  
  
Richard gives James an inquiring look.  
James leans over the phone.  
  
"Good morning, Jezza", he says, and his voice sounds gravelly. He swallows, but obviously resists the urge to nervously clear it.  
  
"Congratulations, May", Jeremy says. "That's not the worst catch you could have made." Then: "I’m serious, chaps. Good for you. And me. Now Hammond can finally stop pining and dripping moisture all over me. I'm happy. Pub tonight. We'll talk about it, but just the once. Oh, and I _never_ want to see you make out in front of me. Now get your arses in the office, we have work to do."  
  
Jeremy disconnects without waiting for an answer and now James does clear his throat.  
  
"Dripping moisture..." he repeats slowly.  
  
" _That_ we're not going to talk about _ever_ ", Richard interrupts. He bounces on his feet, high on endorphins and adrenaline, but not forcing anything, waiting, until finally James laughs, a genuine, happy laugh, if still a little shaky, reaches out and pulls Richard into a kiss and then a tight hug.  
  
"Crikey, how are we so lucky", he murmurs into Richard's hair and Richard draws back so he can tug him down to rest their foreheads together, one hand tangled into James' hair, the other closing over James' hand, the one that is still holding the pebble in a tight grip. He strokes his thumb over the back of it, over skin stretched tight over knuckles, over clenched fingers, until finally James relaxes his death-grip.  
  
Then he folds his own hand around them both, James' hand and the pebble.  
  
"It doesn't matter how, James. It doesn’t. We just _are_."


End file.
